


Finally: A Song of Moving On

by taiyoukaimars



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Black Female Character, Bonnie Bennett-centric, Drama, Eventual Romance, Female Character of Color, Fix-It, Jon Snow - Freeform, Robb Stark is King in the North, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24122356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyoukaimars/pseuds/taiyoukaimars
Summary: Bonnie Bennett reflects upon her short life at the time of her latest death. How did she end up here? Why did she end up here? With no hope, no will to live, and the Other Side gone, how will she move on?
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Robb Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	1. Bonnie

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it's been a while since I've written anything creatively. This popped up for a class and I decided that I needed to flesh it out more. I love crackfics as much as the next person so, if I can squint and make Bonnie fit into Westeros somehow, why not? We need more characters of color in fantasy anyways! So, take a peek and I hope you enjoy the beginning of this ride.

**Finally: A Song of Moving On**

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

She couldn’t believe it came to this, of all things.

_Drop. Drip. Drop._

Dying here, of all places, was almost as big of an insult as finally admitting defeat.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

If she had the strength she would laugh. Even at the end, bleeding out in this ridiculously ostentatious house, she couldn’t die right.

_Drop. Drip. Drop._

The first time she “died,” she didn’t. Things were so easy back then. The biggest thing they had to worry about was watching each other’s’ backs and staying one step ahead of that pyscho. Of course, that didn’t end up working out all that well for her either.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

Nothing worked out well for her after _they_ came. Of course, no one else saw the problem with them in the beginning, and why would they? The brothers were mysterious, handsome, and just so attractive. But Bonnie was never fully ensnared in the web. For a time, Stefan was her friend, but that didn’t last long. Her heart clenched as she remembered how callously Stefan gambled with her and her mother’s lives. Still, no matter what they did, Bonnie was unable to escape from them. If it wasn’t Stefan arguing for the sake of her friends or the town, it was Damon arguing that she did it for _Elena_ or just to piss Bonnie off. Whatever happened to what she wanted? Whatever happened to being more than just the help?

Bonnie wasn’t sure where things went wrong, though if she had to think now, as she lay dying, she would say that it came from not being able to say no. At some point she lost all confidence in herself and just let Elena, Caroline, and those who were supposed to be her friends all use and abuse her without a second thought. Bonnie choked down a sob, unable to stop the painful flashes of memory: her Grams lying on the bed in front of her, so still and quiet; the sickening sound of bone snapping as easily as a pencil breaks and the dull thud of Abby’s body hitting the ground; the dull look in her father’s eyes as his throat was ripped out in front of her; Jeremy’s betrayal. Through it all she remained useless, _weak_.

Was she really part of the so-called powerful Bennett line if this legacy of blood, death, and carnage was all that she left behind? Bonnie missed enjoying her magic, she missed feeling the warmth of it coursing through her veins and feeling like air as she floated feathers around her.

“So much for that,” she coughed out, her hand gingerly pressing against the wound that still wasn’t getting any better. Of course, what did she expect after being stabbed so ruthlessly and efficiently by Kai? It’s a wonder she even made it home. Well, home to Mystic Falls. It would be her luck to only be able to make it as far as the Salvatore Mansion before her body became too weak to go on. Damon and Stefan Salvatore were the bane of her life from the moment they entered, but at least now maybe she could return the favor and haunt their home. It would make her spirit not miserable, at least.

“Is this really how low my line has gotten? First you let that pathetic boy get away with using you and now you’re dying, magicless I might add, because of another weak excuse for a man. At least this last one was pretty to look at.”

Bonnie’s sudden intake of breath was drowned out by the sudden pounding of her heart and the blood rushing to her head. She sat up in Damon’s favorite seat, after all why not bleed out and ruin one more thing just to spite him, and turned herself to face the fireplace. There, looking completely nonchalant, was the biggest pain in her ass not even two years ago.

“ _Qetsiyah_ ,” Bonnie hissed, angry and suddenly feeling more alive than she had been. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you’d be too busy obsessing over your jealousy to ever be concerned with little old me again.”

Qetsiyah raised her eyes from her nails and gave Bonnie a slow smirk.

“You would think that. However, someone thought it necessary to give you a little pep talk so you didn’t die, again, in such a pitiful, lonely way. I voted that you should reap what you’ve sown but I was _outvoted_ ,” Qetsiyah said, her eyes narrowed as they focused on someone just outside of Bonnie’s periphery.

Bonnie stiffened in response, prepared to use whatever strength she had to defend herself. She wasn’t sure who she pissed off in a past life but there were any number of enemies who would love to take a stab at her right now, “ _Pun intended_ ,” she thought. Instead of being overwhelmed by a sense of malevolence or ill-will, Bonnie found herself relaxing. The knots in her body loosened and released, tension she hadn’t realized she had dissipating. The throbbing from her wound lessened, the sweat on her brow cooled. Bonnie hadn’t felt this relaxed, this comforted in so long. Not since-

“Grams!” Bonnie exclaimed, feeling her Grams magic and presence wash over her, as comforting now as it had always been. Sheila stepped into Bonnie’s vision and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always did when she was especially happy. Bonnie’s eyes devoured her Grams’ face, roaming over the smooth skin of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the laugh lines that looked so familiar and were so missed. Deep in those familiar eyes Bonnie saw the love and affection her Grams always had for her and with that, Bonnie’s resolve and fear of an elaborate trick instantly dissolved. No one could replicate that look, no one could fake that love and anguish. Bonnie knew because that’s what she felt at that moment.

“Grams,” Bonnie sobbed again as she found herself wrapped in Sheila’s arms. Bonnie hiccuped and laughed incredulously, surprised that even after death her Grams still managed to smell the same. It was like coming home. It was like being home, _finally_.

“I’m ready Grams,” Bonnie finally managed to say through her tears, throat tightening again at the thought that this was it, things were finally over and she could finally rest. She didn’t want to die at 22 but it couldn’t be worse than the pain of being the anchor or losing any more people she cared about. No. This way she would be with someone who cared about her through everything. No more worrying if she was good enough, strong enough, or useful enough to warrant anyone’s attention, anyone’s affection. Bonnie had only recently felt useful by helping her friends and doing what she could to try to maintain the balance. But again, she was the one who ended up having to pay for it in some way. Not only did she die, again, but she also let Kai slip through her fingers and who knew what kind of chaos he would bring. Even if she weren’t bleeding out in the Salvatore manor and had a way to escape, she still didn’t have her magic so she would be next to useless. It would be better if she just died for good and stayed out of everyone’s way.

“Bonnie Sheila Bennett, you are not dying today. No, child, you are going to _live,_ ” said Sheila, her voice strong and assured, as if she knew something Bonnie didn’t.

“What do you mean I’m not dying? I hate to break it to you Grams, but I lost, again. There’s no doctor to help me and no vampire blood to heal me, not that I’d drink any. And I hate to break it to you, but you and crazy over there are dead,” Bonnie giggled, suddenly finding herself lightheaded. Sheila held up a hand, signaling Qetsiyah to remain quiet and grabbed Bonnie’s hands in her own.

“Do these feel like the hands of a dead witch, child? They always say to watch out for a Bennett witch, but you don’t even know why. That’s my fault Bonnie, and I’m sorry. I wish we had more time for me to teach you. I told you that magic was real and serious once, and well, you’ve seen exactly what magic can do to an unprepared witch. I didn’t prepare you for the real world as a witch then, and sadly I don’t have time to prepare you for your future now. What I can do is make sure you get a chance to do more. There’s great potential in you child, but you’ve got to learn to believe in yourself just as much as you believe in others.”

Bonnie was stunned. She had always felt like her Grams was still watching her from the Other Side but she didn’t expect her to be so invested in what happened with Bonnie. After all, she was still the screw up, no matter what she did. Still, when her Grams talked like that, Bonnie almost believed she could really do more and be the Bennett witch everyone seemed disappointed she wasn’t.

“It’s not your fault Grams. I was too embarrassed and then too eager. I should have listened to you when you tried to teach me about my heritage instead of trying so hard to fit in. I love my friends, but being around them has brought me nothing but pain lately. I’m sorry, Grams. It’s my fault you died in that tomb and it’s my fault that all of this happened. I don’t have potential, I’m just barely good enough to be the magical fix-it-all, but I still manage to screw that up,” Bonnie whispered. She didn’t know where the words came from, but knew they were true. The shame and disappointment she felt from failing her Grams first, then her mother, then her father, were all usually so buried away and hidden, but she was so tired of trying to maintain the lie. All she wanted to do was rest.

Sheila gently pulled Bonnie to her feet, mindful of the wound from Kai, and brought her to stand in front of the fireplace. With Qetsiyah on one side and Grams on the other, the three women formed a triangle and suddenly, Bonnie felt rejuvenated.

“You’ve been so hard on yourself lately, Bonnie, and that’s not fair. Everyone has made their fair share of mistakes, but spirits talk sweetheart. While you’ve been so focused on everyone you haven’t saved, there are so many you have and so many you’ve helped find peace. Don’t ask me how because there’s never enough time to get into it, but the special thing about us Bennett witches is that we have a leg up on all those other witches. Qetsiyah made the Other Side and all your ancestors were able to move on there. We’ve all agreed that the best chance our line has is to maybe move you away from vampires. We’ve found another way for you to maintain the balance with nature. It won’t be glamorous, and it won’t be fun, but you’ve got the chance at life now, child, and I won’t let you waste it.”

Bonnie watched, confused, as her Grams helped her remove her sweater and tossed it into the fireplace. Qetsiyah had reappeared, a fistful of dirt and Silas’ headstone in her hands. She tossed those into the fireplace as well and glanced back at Bonnie, a sneer on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that, little witch. I’m not going to have generations of magic snuffed out like that. You’re from my line, and my line is made of stronger stuff. We don’t just _give up_ ,” Qetsiyah scoffed and wiped the dirt from her hands onto the sides of Bonnie’s face. She softly stroked Bonnie’s cheeks and forehead, eyes gazing into Bonnie’s own as though searching for something. Finally, she blinked, and for a second Bonnie thought she saw the sheen of tears in Qetsiyah’s eyes.

“There, that should do it. Toughen up, Little Bennett Witch. You’ve always had a coven looking out for you, even if you didn’t know it. Now you’ll need to be strong enough to find a new one for yourself if you want to enjoy this last chance you’re being given. Don’t waste it.”

Qetsiyah and Sheila were both looking not at Bonnie, but beyond her now, as though they could see through the room. Bonnie wasn’t sure what they were looking at, or looking for, but then she felt it. The shiver started at the base of her neck, a prickle at first before it expanded and bloomed. She could feel them. Generations of Bennett witches behind her, supporting her. She wasn’t alone, she could do this, whatever this was, somehow. If they still believed in her, then she had to find the strength to believe in herself, too.

“Alright child, this is it. Give yourself grace, Bonnie, and the chance to be vulnerable. Not everyone is out to hurt you. Just, learn from your past and you’ll be fine, baby, I know you will.”

Bonnie watched with tears in her eyes as her Grams stepped back into place, whatever ritual she and Qetsiyah worked on seemingly complete. Bonnie could feel the throbbing of her wound lessen as the magical power in the air increased, growing to the point of oppression. She hadn’t been around magic this powerful in so long and the rush was incredible. Bonnie felt her body weaken and her eyes start to close as she heard Qetsiyah and her Grams’ voices ebb and flow, the spell they weaved cradling her in a cocoon of magic, keeping her safe in this maelstrom of power.

**_Phasmatos motus ignus vitae_ **

**_Phasmatos resurgemus tamquam phoenix_ **

**_Phasmatos mundum confractus_ **

**_Phasmatos transform_ **

**_Nos autem non phasmatos verum_ **

Bonnie drifted away to the familiar sound of a spell being cast. As she slipped into unconsciousness she hoped and wondered if she would be able to be more than the magical help wherever they were sending her. She _needed_ to be more.

“You are a queen, Bonnie Bennett,” whispered Qetsiyah, so quietly Bonnie almost thought she was hearing things. “You are a queen and deserve a throne. To play the game of thrones though, you either live or you die. You, my child, will live.”

Then the fire burning behind her eyes grew dark and Bonnie Bennett knew no more, her presence blinking out of existence as quickly as the prison world did. All was dark. All was silent.

****


	2. Howland

**A/N:** **Thank you all so much for your kind words for the first chapter. This is definitely a crackfic, so I’m glad to see that there is a real interest for this story. I hope you will continue to stick with me as I explore this whole “what if” scenario even more. Howland’s chapter was more difficult to write than I expected, so I hope I did him justice. Please don’t hesitate to send any kind of constructive criticism. For now, we really start to delve into Westeros.**

It was the sudden change in temperature that drew the man out. He was skeptical when the reports first came in, disbelieving that it could possibly be so warm here, of all places. Still, he did his duty and gathered a small force to investigate the source of this mysterious heat. He had been warned, but he was not prepared for the sudden way the lambskin that usually kept him warm instead stuck to him as wetly and strongly as sap from the Weirwood trees. The change from warm to sweltering was wholly unwelcome and unsettling, but all the more driving.

His people were not typically surprised by things, especially not since his son had the sight. With Jojen so far from home, Howland had to rely on the others blessed with greensight in Greywater Watch and, unfortunately for him, they were not as accurate or able to _see_ as far as Jojen could. The one thing they advised him on before he left though, was to act before he thought and to maintain an open mind as the Old Gods worked in ways that were still mysterious to them. 

Even now, he could tell that either the Old Gods or another force was affecting some change here in the Neck. The ground in the swamp, normally covered in frost and crunching underfoot from the first or early winter snows, was now soft and lush. The reeds and trees bloomed beautifully, the scent of nature in the air, heavy and cloying against his tongue. As oppressive as the shift initially seemed, the longer Howland was in the swamp, the more refreshed he felt, to the depths of his being.

This was old magic, similar to the legacy left by the children of the forest, but different as well. The northman in Howland was hesitant and wary at such a sudden change as magic like this seldom boded well for the North. The legacy of the Andals, the Children of the Forest, and the Targaryens still made itself known, from the noble houses to the scarred landscape. Still, the crannogman in him rejoiced. The swamp teemed with life like never before. He felt even more in tune with the land and the creatures in it, as though he were part of a delicately balanced cycle, one in which everything had a very specific place. As old as Howland was, he could not recall a spring where the swamp felt so alive, so fertile, so cohesive. It was soothing.

As refreshing as everything felt for both him and his people, as a loyal bannerman of the North, he could not afford to forget himself. While many in Westeros looked down on those who lived in the swamps of the Neck, there was one house Howland was proud to say did not, once upon a time. His fist clenched in anger and his face tightened in grief, the memory of his friend's death still so fresh. Someone like Ned and Lyanna would never be friends with someone like him but they made their friendship work. All the more tragic for him then that he was now the only one of the trio still alive. At times he thought surely this was some grand punishment by the old gods for the trickery that he, Ned, and Lyanna had accomplished so long ago.

If Howland had the chance to change things, would he? If there was someone powerful enough to right the wrongs that had been done and heal this woefully scarred and imbalanced land, Howland knew he would do whatever he could to help them. The resulting death and war that came about from a simple prank was too much to bear at times. Still, bear it he must, just as he needed to bear the responsibilities of being the lord of Greywater Watch, now beholden to his friend's young son. For this reason, for the love he held for Ned, Howland was resolute in his desire to keep a strong border at the Neck. He couldn't let anything slip by him, even if it seemed as innocuous as a healthy swamp... or a tiny slip of a girl.

Even as he thought it, he knew she was no ordinary girl. While the rest of the swamp showed signs of rejuvenation, the furrow in which she lay was completely reborn. He had never seen foliage this vibrant and this lush, with flowers and colors he had only imagined before. This girl, no, _woman_ he noted with a blush, had to be the epitome of the Mother that those southrons worshipped. She looked as if she were plucked from the earth itself, her body covered in verdant vines and flourishing buds. In the places where her skin did peek through, Howland noted that she had coloring similar to those from Dorne, but still quite different. She was not Westerosi, of that he was sure. 

There was an air of mystery around her, one heightened by the power he could feel humming in the space around her. In short, she was ethereal and Howland was loath to interrupt what appeared to be, oddly enough, a rather deep and peaceful slumber. Still, he had a duty as a bannerman and the lord of his house to investigate this intruder, and he would. He straightened his spine and gestured for the men who had accompanied him to stay back.

Harmless as this woman seemed, he still owed her the respect of being seen in such a state by as few men as possible. That and Howland still did not know how strong she was, and thus could not in good conscience risk the safety of his men. Howland approached the woman cautiously. He was well aware of the type of hidden traps that could be set in the ground to surprise unwanted visitors. He stopped more than an arm’s length away from the woman and stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Howland cleared his throat and waited. The woman did not stir. 

Howland moved a little closer and tightened his grip. This woman would not catch him unawares. Still, she slumbered on. Howland took one more purposeful step towards the woman and then froze. The humming in the air, present but not overpowering, became deafening. The vines around the woman seemed to tighten and slither like snakes, an ever moving and impenetrable armor. Howland was more wary of this strange and foreboding woman but could still not be swayed from his duty. He took another step closer to her, and drew his sword, the sing of metal leaving its scabbard suddenly sharp as the humming died as quickly as it started. He started in surprise and heard the men behind him swear and hastily draw their own swords. It wasn’t the sudden silence that surprised them all. Instead, it was the steady and unwavering gaze of the woman who had awoken and turned her head at the sound of danger. 

Howland, and the men, stared in awe and slight fear as the woman’s gaze pierced them, her eyes shining a vibrant and almost unnatural green. By the old gods and the new, Howland swore to himself at that moment that he would do what he could to protect this woman. Foreign as she was, he could sense somehow that there was more to her than even he suspected, and that she was crucial to the coming future of the North and Westeros. There had to be some reason that she was found here, on his land of all places, and at this specific moment. Howland thought back to the other coincidental circumstances he found himself in all those years ago. The old gods were watching out for House Stark and the North then, so he couldn’t help but hope that they were doing so again. 

“Calm, my lady,” he said lowly as he held up a hand in caution and lowered his sword to the ground. 

“My lord,” started Rodrik, the captain of his guard. “My lord, I do not think that is wise.”

“Nonsense, Rodrik,” Howland murmured. “The least we could do is preserve the lady’s honor.” 

He could see the confusion and rising panic on the young woman's face, her realization that she was bare as a newborn babe dawning. Howland unclasped the cloak that stuck uncomfortably close to the skin of his neck and the wet cloth against his back and folded it neatly before placing it on the ground in front of the woman. She need not be more uncomfortable than she probably already was, and as a highborn lord it was only right of him to do something to ease her discomfort. He turned around and stared pointedly at Rodrik and the other men. No one needed to shame this woman and see anymore of her than they already had.

Howland heard the soft rustle of moving leaves as the mysterious woman moved to presumably cover herself. He hoped that she would trust him in whatever way possible, as there was no way he would be able to leave her on her own after this. Howland raised an arm, hoping to gain her attention, and slowly turned back around to face her. He glanced at her face quickly before bowing his head and holding out his hand. She still seemed so confused and, if she really didn’t belong in Westeros the way he suspected, then she would need more assistance than a simple cloak. Howland held a hand against his chest to introduce himself and hoped that she was more than a simpleton and would be able to communicate with him. 

“Howland,” he said as he gestured at himself. “Howland,” he repeated again, before gesturing at her. Howland watched as she tilted her head in confusion and apparent dismay as he could only assume that she did not understand anything he said. Still, he was surprised when she pointed a finger at herself in response.

_“Bon-nee,”_ she whispered, her voice cracking. He watched as she seemed to shrug off the apparent discomfort in her throat and fixed him with a steely gaze. Whoever this young woman was, she put up a brave front. She maintained an aura of regality and composure, but Howland just barely noticed the slight tremor in her hands as she clasped his cloak tightly closed. Her voice barely wavered as she repeated her name, louder and with a stronger accent. Wherever her home was, it sounded quite different than Westeros as Howland had never heard of such an interesting name. 

“Bahn-nee,” he repeated, her name heavy on his tongue. He watched her wince and knew his pronunciation was lacking. Howland licked his lips and ignored the murmurs of his men at the foreign sounding name. 

“Bon-nee,” Howland corrected, and was treated to a small loosening of her facial muscles. That, it seemed, he did manage to get correct. Howland unwrapped the leather waterskin from his belt. Howland opened it slowly, sniffed it, then drank from it. 

“Wine,” he said. He took another drink from the waterskin and held it out to Bon-nee expectantly, hopefully. If she didn’t trust him enough to accept sustenance, then Howland wasn’t sure how any real progress between the two could be made. 

The woman, Bon-nee, stared at Howland, her gaze piercing and suspicious. His eyes met hers, unwavering and, he hoped, non-threatening. If anything, Howland began to feel, not threatened, but uneasy and imbalanced. He felt as though she were peeling back the layers of what made him _him_ the longer she maintained contact, to the point that Howland felt like she saw all of him. Thoughts of Jojen and Meera, Ned and Lyanna, even the Tower of Joy, all sped through his mind. His heart thundered in his chest as he briefly wondered to himself if she was really some sort of agent sent to discern what really happened all that time ago and finally, torn between his desire to make Bon-nee trust him and his own oath to Ned, Howland dropped his head and broke their gaze. He did not know what it was that she saw, if it was that she saw anything. Her face remained stoic and seemingly unmoved by Howland’s memories and he thought, perhaps, she did not see anything at all. 

Howland hissed in surprise as he felt her warm hand touch his own. He had forgotten that he still held the waterskin in his trembling hand but, before he could drop it, Bon-nee’s hand grasped his and took the wine for herself. Howland looked up into the much warmer, more natural moss green eyes of Bon-nee and felt himself relax as she took a purposeful, deliberate sip of wine. It was not much, and she probably did not understand the significance of it, but to Howland it was as close to guest right as Howland could get now. 

He straightened and turned to look at his guards, who at this point stared stupefied at their liege lord. Howland offered Bon-nee his arm and, ignoring the incredulous looks of Rodrik and the other guards, pointed in the direction of Greywater Watch. He smiled slightly at Bon-nee, hoping that she would remain as trusting on their short journey back. 

“Home,” he said. 

“Home,” she replied, her confusion well hidden.

Of course, the idea of home would be relative for her, but Howland was certain that she would come to appreciate the beauty and security of Greywater Watch. It would be her home, for now at least, until it became more obvious what Howland should do with her. The old gods would guide him, he had faith in that. They had brought him this far and would surely not abandon him now. “Hearth, heart, and harvest” were the words that guided his people for so long and he would not forsake them now. No, Howland would follow his heart and welcome this woman into his home. He could only hope that the North would soon reap the benefits of the seeds of trust and compassion he tried to sow with Bon-nee now. Winter was coming, and they needed all of the help they could get.


	3. Bonnie

There was a chill in the air unlike that which was normally felt for this season. Although she knew “winter was coming” as those around constantly liked to remind her, this chill was the result of something more supernatural, probably the ghosts of all those who lost their lives in this ghastly monstrosity. She would know. Being the anchor for so long made her more in-tune with lingering spirits, both supernatural and mortal, as they were all in some way torn from their tether to the earth. Howland had warned her that Harrenhal was not a place for the faint of heart to visit and naturally she had scoffed at him. If there was anyone who would be able to tough it out and endure, it would be her. Still, she may have underestimated how dark and evil this place really felt. 

While Bonnie had briefly read up on the history of this particular castle, she knew that the remnants she felt were from more recent ghosts. She and her companions had heard whispers of the tortures and sadistic events that happened here not too long ago, when Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane had been in charge. For that reason she was more than relieved that Harrenhal had become less important to him and then subsequently “taken” by the Young Wolf. She always chuckled to herself when she heard that nickname. It sounded so pretentious to her, but of course she had stood toe to toe with an actual werewolf at times, so someone claiming to be wolflike just seemed so childish in comparison. This Young Wolf did sound immensely better than the likes of Tywin Lannister and many of the other lords she had read about after Howland had taken her in. 

She couldn’t believe that it had been almost a year since she had woken up, naked of all things, in the middle of a swamp of all places. She blamed Qetsiyah. That bitch always seemed to have it out for her, despite the fact that they were related, even if it was generations down the line. Still, Bonnie found it hard to believe her Grams would have sent her to such a backwater place on purpose, especially not if she knew that it was at the beginning of a major political upheaval. Then again, Grams did always think that sometimes Bonnie had to learn things the hard way... and she knew she didn’t make friends with any of her other ancestors. The bite she received from Damon all those years ago as an Emily possession still stung sometimes even though it had barely scarred. Between Emily, Qetsiyah, the witches she angered by practicing Expression and going against nature, and then her well-meaning grandmother, Bonnie supposed she should have been thankful to be sent to any sort of civilized place at all. 

Besides, Howland and the people of Greywater Watch were all actually very sweet. Sure, at times they became almost too overbearing. She often caught Howland watching her with this speculative, almost hopeful look in his eyes, and that more than anything else about this experience, unnerved her the most. The last thing she needed was to be another magical negro or superhuman savior. She just wanted to be Bonnie and fit in as much as possible amongst these people. Even that was difficult since she obviously stood out with her dark skin and piercing eyes. Many people outside of Greywater Watch assumed she came from Dorne or someplace not too far off like the Summer Isles, and of course Bonnie and her new friends never reminded them. “Different” was not very welcomed in Westeros it seemed, but especially not in the North. It took her an embarrassingly long amount of time to even passably speak the Common Tongue. Howland was adamant about it though, both that she learned the Common Tongue to better communicate and that she learned the history of Westeros first and even the more recent history of Essos. Again, she was sure there was something he wasn’t telling her, especially after he happened to walk in on her losing control of her magic. 

_ She couldn’t take it anymore! Sure these people were nice enough if one got past the constant bowing and calling her m’lady all the time. Firstly, she was most definitely not anything close to what the people here would consider nobility, and secondly she absolutely hated the constant pampering that came with it, specifically the dresses. Howland,  _ and what an odd name among constant weirdness _ , didn’t seem to mind so much if she went around wearing breeches, but the lady’s maid that had been assigned to her, Sheena, was vehemently against it. Between that and constantly being followed every time she left this insanely generous room, Bonnie was losing it. Why were these people so nice to her and why did they insist on being so damn helpful all of the time. All Bonnie wanted to do was figure out a way to get home, but even that was becoming a farfetched dream at this point.  _

_ Still, the one solace in all of this was that she had never felt more connected to nature. It could have been the rather obvious fact that this world obviously didn’t have any kind of industrial revolution yet like her own, but Bonnie felt like there was something more to it. Though she restricted any practice of her magic to when she was in the Godswood, every spell she cast and every meditative trance she put herself in felt deeper and more powerful. She found herself more grounded than “usual” when she actually took the time to calm herself and meditate in front of the largest weirwood tree in this particular Godswood. Sometimes she thought she heard Grams speaking to her, other times it was just a faint, faint whisper. Regardless, this is where she always felt the most relaxed and the most comforted, which is why she was even more frustrated.  _

_ Her Grams always made it seem like the best way to boost a witch’s power was to cultivate a strong and enduring connection with nature. Bonnie thought that’s what she had been doing for the last month now. Everyday, after breaking her fast,  _ gods she was starting to talk like them _ , and completing her studies with the maester, Bonnie would come to the Godswood to meditate. It was harder than she expected at first, probably because she had become so engrossed in everyone else’s problems in her other life that she forgot to stay connected with herself. Still, she had been coming out here, first to enjoy the peace and seclusion she got from the Godswood as these northmen were serious about their gods, and then later to really try and connect with this world. She thought she had planted a good foundation and had felt more in tune with herself and with her power. Slipping into that meditative trance had become increasingly easier, to the point that she simply had to close her eyes, breathe, and let the gentle breeze in the Godswood blow through the trees, the branches, and leaves, until it eventually found her. She could feel her power lying dormant in her but no matter what she did, she just couldn’t reach it.  _

_ At this point Bonnie had tried basic incantations that had become secondhand to her. She had tried  _ motus _ ,  _ incendia _ , and even the more advanced spell to astrally project herself. That last one may not have been the best idea, but she was desperate and it still didn’t work! Even now, she tried saying  _ fire _ in Common and even in High Valyrian.  _ Perzys _ did not flow well off the tongue and it obviously didn’t connect well with her power. Bonnie was so frustrated at this point that, for only the second or third time since waking up in this crazy place, she fell to her knees, hung her head, and completely let her guard down, her entire sense of self laid bare. The tears welled up in her eyes and started pouring and before she knew it, she was pouring herself out, sobbing as she begged her Grams, Emily, even Qetsiyah to provide her some kind of guidance!  _

_ “Please,” she sobbed loudly as she hugged her arms around herself.  _

_ “Please,” she sobbed louder, unaware of the concerned Howland walking up behind her. She had missed her afternoon lessons and he had been worried but now he felt worried and lost as he crept closer to Bonnie, reaching a hand out in an attempt to offer her some kind of lifeline, some kind of comfort.  _

_ “Please!” she screamed in anguish, her head tossed back. Howland’s heart jumped into his throat and he yelped in fear and surprise as he felt his hand burning before he saw it. Bonnie turned around in surprise, her hand raised in defense, or maybe offense he thought offhandedly, before she gasped in horror.  _

_ She saw that Howland cradled his burnt right hand in his left arm and took a half-step towards him before noticing that her own hand was on fire. Bonnie screeched in fear and attempted to pat the fire out before she realized, dazedly and almost drunkenly, that her hand didn’t actually  _ burn _. This, somehow, was her power, finally! She sobbed again, this time in relief and joy as she felt the power she was so close to touching all those previous times finally well up in her and expanded and expressed itself outward. The fire on her hand swelled and grew until it covered her arm and then soon, her entire body. Bonnie giggled as she felt the flames’ tickles and a slight but ever present warmth spreading throughout her body. She was back! Her powers were back!  _

_ And they hurt someone, she thought with growing horror as she noticed Howland had fallen on the cold ground in front of her. Bonnie rushed to his side and reached out to touch him, only to have Howland flinch away from her, his eyes averted. Bonnie scowled as she realized he thought she would hurt him which, granted, she did, but not on purpose. Still, someone covered completely in fire had to be a jarring sight, to say the least. Bonnie breathed in and out, in and out, and felt flames ebb and flow around her body in sync with this rhythm. She breathed in and out and in and felt the flames receding from her head, her legs, her arms, until she felt this steady, comforting warmth in the center of her chest. She breathed out, purposefully still, and felt her power travel along her right arm, now outstretched over Howland, until it settled comfortably and invisibly over her palm.  _

_ “Howland, look at me,” she commanded, her voice quavering only slightly. Calm as she hoped she looked, this was all still very new to Bonnie and while she was pretty sure what she was going to try and do would help Howland, there was still that small chance it would do the opposite.  _

_ Howland grimaced and opened his eyes, his pained gaze meeting her warm one. Bonnie smiled half-heartedly and shrugged.  _

_ “I’m sorry but I’m pretty sure I can help,” she said. Howland hesitated only slightly before nodding in response and gingerly holding his darkened hand out to her. Bonnie winced once she saw the extent of the burn and prayed to her ancestors and Howland’s old gods that this actually worked. She breathed in and out and felt her power move similarly into her left hand and cradled Howland’s own burnt extremity with her hands. She gasped in surprised delight when she noticed that his hand was actually healing and quite quickly too! Bonnie focused on her breathing and all the good will she had for Howland as she watched his hand heal and change from the angry red and black it was to a very bright pink. She reached for the bottom of her tunic to strip off a piece and then flushed when she realized that while she herself may have been unharmed when she self-immolated, her clothes were not.  _

_ “Ugh, not again!” Bonnie groaned. Howland hummed in agreement and looked away with the slightest upturn to the corner of his lips.  _

_ “Indeed, my lady.” _

Bonnie blushed even now to think of that incident. It was one thing to lose control of her power in such a spectacular manner but it was another to become vulnerable emotionally like that, and physically too. Still, after that day Howland treated her with even more deference, if that was possible. She would have been worried for her honor and his own if she weren’t quite certain that he was very devoted to his wife, family, and house. There was an odd preoccupation with one’s breeding here, one that Bonnie really didn’t like. In fact, since that day, he seemed to often ask probing questions to learn more about her as Bonnie Bennett instead of focusing on Bonnie, the ward of Howland Reed. He was the one who came to her suddenly and suggested that she take a lady’s maid, Sheena, as well as Rodrik and a handful of other guards to try and send a message to the Young Wolf regarding both the status of Greywater Watch and Howland’s control over his area of the Neck and a message he seemed to believe that his friend Ned would have wanted delivered to his son. Bonnie didn’t think such a significant message should come from someone like her, but Howland was adamant and thus she now found herself at Harrenhal, trying to convince herself that this wasn’t a horrible idea. 

Bonnie and her companions had just arrived and been “welcomed” into what had been hastily cleaned and converted into a sort of great hall by one of Lord Bolton’s men. She had read up on the history of House Bolton and dreaded meeting this man. Something told her that, despite the fact his family’s history was supposed to truly be history, it really wasn’t. That feeling was amplified, first at the increasingly long time he made her and her companions wait to greet him, and then alarmingly by the dead look in his eyes when she greeted him. Bonnie had yet to encounter any tangible supernatural presence in the nine or so moons she had been here. Now however, It looked like while there weren’t necessarily vampires in this world, there were just as many soulless, walking dead, and she needed to be just as careful around them as she should have been around the Damons and Klauses of her world. 

Roose Bolton had all of the arrogant and intimidating bearing of a man that had seen and done many ruthless things in his time. He was larger than the slim people of and around Greywater Watch but not overly large. She could tell that Bolton was no stranger to physical labor and that, at the very least, he was as strict with himself as he was with those around him. Bonnie watched with growing trepidation as the servant bowed lowly to Bolton, avoiding his eyes and shrinking in on themselves even more as Roose passed by to enter the room. 

The refurbished great hall looked as though it was formerly a dining area, or housing for the servants. It had been on a lower level of Harrenhal, under the ground proper, and it still had the faint scent of sweat and musk that constantly followed the common people. The room itself was dim, the only light coming from a roaring fireplace near the main entrance to the hall, where Bolton had just entered, and torches lining the wall leading up to the slightly raised platform that had a singular chair for him. While Bonnie was still fairly new to the political subtleties in Westeros, even she knew that Bolton’s whole arrangement here was a little... extra. Yes, she would need to remain wary of him and those who seemed extremely loyal to him. 

Bonnie and her small party waited until Lord Bolton was seated before approaching him. The silence in the hall became more pronounced the closer they came. Bonnie could feel the unforgiving gaze of the leech lord sweep over her as she and Rodrik walked to the front of the hall. She curtsied, perhaps lower than she would otherwise have, and awaited his greeting.

“Forgive me, but we were hardly expecting visitors from Greywater Watch, especially in such a place as this.” 

Bonnie clenched her hands tightly in front of her, barely suppressing the shiver that glided down her spine. This so-called leech lord was truly something else and she could not wait to be rid of his presence. Bonnie bit her tongue and watched as Rodrik stepped forward and bowed before presenting the sealed letter addressed to Robb Stark. Bolton dispassionately examined the seal, stamped with the distinct lizard-lion sigil of House Reed. 

“My lord,” Rodrik began, his voice bouncing eerily off the dark walls. “My lord, we come to deliver a message to the King in the North, His Grace Robb Stark. My liege, Lord Reed, entrusted us with this task. We had heard rumors that His Grace was at Harrenhal.”

“You heard correctly. However, you just missed the king. He has important matters to attend to as his grandfather, Lord Tully, just passed. I was leaving shortly for Riverrun and can pass this missive along to His Grace.”

Bonnie stepped forward before she knew it, and cleared her throat. Damn her inability to stay out of things! Still, she didn’t trust this Roose Bolton as far as she could throw him. There was no way she was leaving Howland’s delicate letter in this creep’s hands. 

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but Lord Reed specifically entrusted us with this task. He was most adamant about this, and very direct in his instruction. I’m sure you understand the importance of sending important messages with trusted friends, er servants,” she said, flushing slightly. 

Some of her old colloquialisms still slipped out and now was the worst time as she did not want anymore of Roose Bolton’s attention on her than necessary. It seemed too late as he perked up in apparent interest as Bonnie spoke. She could feel his gaze measuring her, could feel it prickling against her skin. Her magic wanted to rise in response to such blatant disrespect and the unease she felt shifting deep in her stomach. Bonnie clenched her jaw and pushed her magic back down. She could not afford any accidents here of all places. 

“Are you?” asked Bolton, his tone condescendingly amused. Bonnie rolled her eyes inwardly. The arrogance! Still, she had a role to play, long enough to remain just unnoticeable enough to get closer to the Young Wolf. 

“I don’t understand, my lord,” she demurred. Inside she chafed at the necessity of being so unremarkable and malleable, but needs must. 

“Are you merely a servant? Or are you a friend of House Reed, my lady?” Bolton clarified. 

Bonnie glanced at Rodrik out of the corner of her eye. It seems like Roose Bolton was as clever as she had been led to believe. Luckily for them, they had something of a cover story already prepared. She just hoped it lived up to scrutiny long enough for her purposes. 

“I am but a humble ward and servant of House Reed. Lord Howland saw fit to take me in after an unfortunate accident some time ago. It is my honor to repay the hospitality he has shown me and fulfilling any task he may require of me,” Bonnie said softly. 

She could almost hear Sheena’s eye roll at the back of the hall. Okay, maybe she was laying things on a bit thick, but they hardly needed Roose Bolton of all people getting too interested in them and their task. Howland left her with specific instructions on who to trust and who to be more than wary of. Unfortunately for him, Roose Bolton was on that list of people to avoid if possible and be unremarkable if all else failed. However, it looked like her attempt at fading into the background failed. 

Of course, it was likely to since one hardly saw someone of her complexion so far north of Kings Landing. Now she was purporting to be a ward of House Reed. Ugh, Bonnie couldn’t believe her luck. It would have been better if Howland had just sent the letter with Rodrik or better yet, gone himself. Those crannogmen were eerily fast when they needed to be. She was sure he would have been able to make it to Robb Stark unnoticed. She was obviously not so lucky. She watched with growing unease as Bolton’s eyes travelled across her form before staring meaningfully at both Rodrik and at Sheena and the other guards in the back. Well, it looked like their jig was up. 

“Forgive me, my lady, but I doubt you are as lowly as you seem to think. Afterall, why would Lord Reed waste such capable guards on someone unless they were...important. Regardless, I understand your hesitation and, since you must deliver this message yourself, I implore you. Allow me to host you until I set out to meet King Robb myself. It will not be more than a few days at most,” Bolton said. 

Bonnie cringed inwardly. She wasn’t sure what he was playing at, but the last thing she wanted was to spend more time here than necessary. She could already feel herself becoming nauseous from the souls vying for vengeance and respite. No, she needed to leave Harrenhal and all of its ghosts as soon as possible. 

“Thank you, my lord,” she began delicately. She had learned from listening to the smallfolk talk that some of these lords were easily offended. Being flayed was not something she was eager to experience. 

“Thank you, my lord, but we must beg your forgiveness. Lord Reed instructed us to make haste, only resting as needed. We would ask your leave and hospitality for the night but we must be off soon again,” interrupted Rodrik. Bonnie bit her tongue in relief. She didn't know how much more of these niceties and platitudes she could handle. 

Bolton smiled humorlessly and Bonnie knew they had him. He very well couldn’t force another Lord’s people to go against whatever orders they had received. 

“Very well. I will have one of the servants show you to your rooms Lady...” he trailed off. Bonnie winced when she realized through all of this they had yet to actually introduce themselves. They would have to do better when they actually came upon the king.

“Bonnie, my lord.”

“Bonnie,” mused Bolton, a slight calculating gleam in his eyes. “What an unusual name.” 

Bonnie knew they would have this problem. Her name wasn’t exactly common around this area. It made her even more other and exoctic. Howland should have let her use some other name but he wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted that she present as much of her true self to Robb Stark as possible, for reasons unknown to Bonnie. Howland had yet to steer her wrong so here she was, an oddity in Harrenhal. She smiled humorlessly. 

“Yes, my lord. Bonnie of House Bennett in the Summer Isles”

“The Summer Isles? You are far from home, my lady.”

“Yes, well fortunately for me, the North has become another home to me. I cannot speak highly of House Reed’s hospitality. They certainly live up to their words,” Bonnie said, folding her hands demurely in front of her. She could still play the part of a duty bound lady even if Roose Bolton was turning into a nosey nuisance. 

“Unfortunately,” she continued before Bolton could get a chance to reply, “as you mentioned, we have indeed come a long way. Thank you for your generosity Lord Bolton, but it is time for us to retire.”

Bonnie worried that she had pushed Bolton too far with her rather obvious demand to be left alone. Afterall, hardly anyone really knew they were there, let alone that they were there because of Howland. She hoped that the close relationship between Howland and Ned Stark was as well known as the relationship between Stark and Baratheon had been. 

Bolton stood from his chair and walked slowly to stand in front of Bonnie. Up close she could really see that this was a man who rarely enjoyed life, at least, not in the traditional means. She could not see any laugh lines on his face, just a paleness that was so familiar. How coincidental that she escaped the bloodsuckers from her home only to encounter another blood-sucking entity. She could see why he was called the leech lord. Cold as the north could get, Bonnie was certain that this paleness was because of the leeches he used and perhaps too much time spend indoors, doing gods only knew what. So caught up in her own perusal of him, she was shocked when she felt Bolton’s cold damp hand on her own. Bonnie gasped in shock and dismay and tried to quickly swallow down her revulsion. 

“Then I will leave you to it, my lady. Your horses will have rest and water and the servants are at your command,” he murmured. Bonnie stilled as Bolton brought her hand to his forehead and bowed over it before handing her the letter. She clumsily curtsied and waited with bated breath as his echoing footsteps left the room. Bonnie waited a half second more in the following quiet, ensuring with her senses they were truly alone, before she collapsed in a quivering mess. 

“My lady!” Rodrik and Sheena exclaimed! Bonnie was numb to their calls, blind to the worried faces in front of her. All she could see, all she could hear, all she was were the victims of Bolton and his flayed cruelty. She felt the deep-seated satisfaction he felt when he peeled the skin from a young man’s back and felt his pleasure as the screams deepened into true despair. She felt the scratches across the back of her hands and her face as a woman tried to defend herself against the sharp blades of Bolton and someone who looked eerily similar to him. 

Bonnie gasped, gagged, and vomited across the stone floor in front of her. She heaved as Bolton’s malicious satisfaction warred with the terrified final moments of those tortured souls from not too long ago. Bonnie heaved and heaved until her stomach was empty, her head pounded, and her heart ached. She barely felt it as Rodrik eased the letter out of her hands or as Sheena wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her up. 

“Privacy,” she rasped out. Bonnie shuddered and gulped in lungfuls of air as Rodrik left to find a helpful servant. She focused on her breathing, in and out, ebbing and flowing much like the water in the swamps in the Neck. In and out, in and out, Bonnie felt her pulse slow and her magic calm. She looked meaningfully at Sheena and then the walls around them, whispering “later” before standing to her full height. She hadn’t been brought down by literal monsters from her worst nightmares. She wouldn’t allow the depravity of Roose Bolton and the other evil men of this world to do her in. 

Rodrik returned with a short-statured woman in dirty, rough wool clothes. She avoided eye contact with Bonnie and Sheena and shied away from Rodrik. Bonnie could only imagine the horrors this woman had seen. 

“My lady would like to retire for the evening,” Sheena said, standing protectively in front of Bonnie. Bonnie heard the shifting of cloth as the woman curtsied and wordlessly led them out of the great hall. 

Bonnie tried to avoid looking at the remnants of the castle. The charred remains still screamed with the echoes of those burnt by dragonfire and the bustling yard was made busier by the ghosts of those the Lannister army had tortured. Bonnie understood why this woman hurried through the courtyard to lead them to one of the other towers, this one shorter and less obviously damaged than the tallest towers. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, Bonnie and her companions made it to the third floor of this new tower and were led to a set of rooms at the end of the hall and, perhaps coincidentally, furthest from the winding staircase. The timid woman awkwardly curtsied once more and turned to leave before stopping. 

“M’lord Bolton is two floors above you m’lady. If you be needing anything, m’name’s Tansy and I’ll be helping you.”

“Thank you, Tansy. Watered down wine and bread and salt are fine,” Bonnie said shortly. She needed Tansy to leave so she could have a break down in relative peace. Tansy curtsied once more and left Bonnie, Sheena, and Rodrik to their own devices. Bonnie ushered them into the closest room and quietly closed the door behind her. She gestured for Sheena’s bag and took out a bundle of dried sage. With narrowed eyes she breathed on the edge of the sage and watched as it smoked before bursting into flame. Bonnie waved the sage around herself before walking around the room, warding the room in a protective sound barrier. There. If there was anyone listening, they wouldn’t be able to hear anything now. 

“My lady, what happened? Are you alright?” asked Sheena once Bonnie motioned she was finished. Bonnie shook her head in response and shuddered once more. The sage was barely cleansing enough. She couldn’t wait to leave this castle. 

“I was caught by surprise is all. There are a lot of angry spirits here. That and Roose Bolton is a dirty, sadistic bastard!” spat Bonnie disgustedly. Sheena gasped and Rodrik paled. 

“My lady, your...powers notwithstanding, you can’t say stuff like that. That’s a right old insult to someone highborn like Lord Bolton,” Rodrik whispered. Bonnie rolled her eyes. 

“I read you people’s exact position on bastards and let me tell you, none of them hold a candle to the sadism that Bolton craves. Let’s just say that he really lives up to his sigil. We need to leave at first light. I refuse to stay here longer than necessary.”

Rodrik had opened his mouth to protest but nodded, grim-faced, as he realized Bonnie was firm in her resolve. Besides, if Bolton really was flaying people, then it was his duty to ensure that Bonnie stayed safe and, if need be, far away from the lord of the Dreadfort. It wasn’t lost on Rodrik that Bolton seemed increasingly interested in Bonnie. Rodrik also noticed the distinct lack of guest right offered to Bonnie’s party. One could argue that perhaps the lord Bolton was tired but, considering Bonnie’s reaction, perhaps it was a more insidious and purposeful slight. Regardless, Rodrik knew he was not getting very much rest that night. 

He held up a calming hand to Bonnie and Sheena when they heard the knock on the door. Opening it slowly, Rodrik was relieved when he saw that it was the wine, bread, and salt that Bonnie had requested. At least she had the foresight to request some imitation of guest’s right. She really didn’t trust Lord Bolton and Rodrik would do what he could to ensure that she wasn’t put in a position where she was helpless against him. Lord Reed had entrusted that much to him. 

“I’ll take that,” said Rodrik. He held the bowl of bread and salt out to Sheena and then Bonnie and took a bite himself. It was sparse, but it should force Lord Bolton to be honorable enough to not attack them while they slept. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Bonnie said as she took a sip from her wine. Her lessons with Howland regarding some of the land’s more important customs still stood out to her as archaic and completely unnecessary. However, if they helped her survive a little longer, she was all for them. 

“Thank you Rodrik, Sheena, for helping me get up here. I hate that I let my guard down like that. It seems, after meeting  _ Lord _ Bolton, that it’s even more important that I get this letter and Howland’s message to Robb Stark. I think he needs a lesson in who he has surrounded himself with.”

“But my lady, not meaning offense, but the young king won’t have any reason to trust you. House Bolton has been loyal to House Stark for many many years.”

“I know that Sheena. House Bolton also has a history of enmity with House Stark. Don’t worry, I’m not going to put Howland in an awkward position. Just a well-placed warning here and there should be enough for the Young Wolf to beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing near him. 

“Now, I’m sure the two of you are exhausted. Rodrik, I know you’re not getting any sleep tonight, but try to relax somewhat. I can take care of myself. You need rest too. Sheena, I will see you in the morning. I need to meditate and center myself. Again.”

Rodrik and Sheena nodded at Bonnie and let her usher them both out the door. She heard murmurs and then silence as the two seemed to go their separate ways. Bonnie hoped they didn’t end up lost here. She needed as many people on her side when she met Robb Stark as possible. In the meantime, Bonnie loosened her hair, took off her shoes, and stripped down to the shift under her dress. This was as close to nature as she dared get under the circumstances. Still, it was enough to get comfortable and allow herself to feel the lonely spirits swarming around her. She would do what she could to begin to bless this place and hopefully restore some of the balance that had been skewed. After that, she hoped her presence was enough to tip the scales in Robb Stark’s favor. 

Bonnie hadn’t told Sheena and Rodrik everything she had seen when Bolton touched her. She was saving that for the young king himself. Still, she hoped he would be open to hearing her when she told him that Roose Bolton was a traitor and detriment to his family’s well being. Hopefully appealing to his sense of family would sway him. After all, “family, duty, honor” were the words he should also be guided by. Duty and honor had already gone to the wayside, if the rumors were to be believed. Family was all that Robb Stark had left and Bonnie would do her damndest to help keep them safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me in another chapter! Some notes: I will be combining both the books and the show. The major plot points up until the Red Wedding will be taken from the show. It's the minor things that I'm leaning on the books for. At this point, Bonnie has been in Westeros for almost a year. She came just after Ned died in 288. It is now late 299 as the events of the Red Wedding purportedly happened in 300 I believe. I may be off by about a year though. Anyways, for the purists among us, this story will be a mash-up of the different sources. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next up it should be our Young Wolf.


	4. Chapter 4: Robb

**A/N: So, thank you so much for your patience. Between having a crappy month and Robb being a lot harder to write than I expected, this chapter took a while. I hope you enjoy it and constructive criticism is always welcomed! A beta reader is also welcomed if anyone has suggestions. ^_^' Anyways, enjoy.**

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Robb ran a hand through his thick hair, fatigue and frustration waging a fierce battle for dominance in his skull. Another day, another mistake but, as his father so often reminded him, he who gave the sentence must swing the sword. Would his father have done the same? Would he have executed a bannerman so coldly and without any hesitation? No, Ned Stark never would have been put in that situation. His mother had respected his father and she never would have gone against Ned Stark’s word. His word was law. Not Robb’s, not anymore.

Robb took no pleasure or gratification from executing Lord Karstark. He was well aware that his mother, the Blackfish, and many of the Northern lords thought it was a mistake to execute the liege lord of such a prominent house. The Karstarks had brought two thousand men to Robb’s cause but had paid for it dearly with the loss of both Harrion and Torrhen. Still, loyalty was what House Karstark pledged to House Stark. Loyalty was what Robb had been owed and it was _disloyalty_ that Lord Karstark had given him. Too many of the men still thought him a boy. Would a boy keep routing the great Tywin Lannister? No, just like a boy never would have captured Jaime Lannister. It wasn’t his boyhood that got them in the trouble they were in now. It was the weakness of sentiment and pride. If it hadn’t been for his uncle and then his mother, Robb knew he would have been in a much stronger position. It wouldn’t feel like they were losing the war. 

Still, that wasn’t entirely true. Robb’s pride had been bruised enough for him to no longer deny the culpability his own actions had in decreasing the faith and morale amongst his troops. Lord Karstark, shortly before his death, said what Robb was sure too many around him were thinking. He lost the respect and confidence of his men when he chose Talisa to be his queen. Perhaps it was wrong of him to marry her so quickly instead of stalling for time later. Perhaps he should have married the Frey girl like his mother promised. It just wasn’t fair. Robb never wanted to be in this position.

The summer he spent with his sisters and brothers seemed so long ago now, even though it was barely three years gone. Robb should have been enjoying the last vestiges of his youth with Jon and Theon by his side. They would spar and laugh and dream of their future where everything somehow worked out for the best. Arya would be struggling out of their mother’s grasp yet again, hiding from Mother and the septa while Sansa behaved like the beautiful lady she was destined to be. Bran and Rickon...Robb’s heart clenched at the thought of his youngest brothers. Not only would they be _alive_ but Bran would be walking and would possibly have been sent to foster elsewhere, well on his way to becoming the knight he had longed to be. 

This life just wasn’t fair. That was the life that Robb should have had, instead of fielding resentful glances, whispers of _kinslayer_ and _oathbreaker_ behind his back, and war council after war council. The only light through all of this had been Talisa. Certainly she was a more than capable healer of ailments and battle wounds. Most important to him, though, was how she soothed his soul. Even now, as Robb strode steadily to his tent in the middle of this encampment, he could feel his anxieties and stresses melting away. The corner of his mouth upturned slightly as he thought of the welcome his pregnant queen would give him. She was beginning to exhaust him more than the council meetings. 

Robb’s improved mood dampened when he noticed just who was waiting outside of his tent. Even now, in the midst of grief and the roughly erected encampment, his mother was a vision. Her red hair, so vibrant in his memories, had lost some of its luster, gray becoming more and more apparent in her long locks. Despite this, she still held herself with the bearing of a lady. The two guards who flanked her, now a permanent fixture since the debacle with Jaime Lannister, looked insignificant as they stood on either side of her. Catelyn Stark was many things lately, but a pushover was not one of those things. He already knew he wasn’t going to like whatever conversation his mother had planned. 

“Robb, I must speak with you,” she began, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. 

He bristled in response. Even now, after everything she had done, she still didn’t realize how she constantly undermined him in front of his men by acting like his mother and not the Queen Mother. Robb frowned and stopped short, just out of her reach. She would not coddle him, even if this was a lesson she had to learn through slight humiliation. 

“I am your king, mother. You will address me as Your Grace,” he said frostily and cut a meaningful glance at the escort flanking her. She always did this. Catelyn always saw him as the little boy she needed to keep safe and never as the man he was trying to be. Robb had never felt as northern as he did now that he felt as stern and solemn as his father always looked. Her coddling and sentiment had already made him look weak and incapable. He still didn’t think he did right in punishing her, but what else could he do? It crossed Robb’s mind then that he should have sent her back home when he first had the chance. Mayhaps his brothers would still be alive. At the very least she wouldn’t be as much of a thorn in his side as she was now. 

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Catelyn responded. Robb could hear the anger and hurt in her voice, but he was too tired to care. Let her simmer in her frustration for a little longer. He had more important things to attend to, namely his wife. Talisa would undoubtedly appreciate any attention she could get from him now, but she would also box his ears if she found out he ignored his mother like this. That woman was gentle but fierce, even more so with the babe growing inside her. Robb sighed. It seemed he wouldn’t get the reprieve he hoped for just yet. 

“Come, mother. Tell me what is so important that you demand my attention so.”

Robb brushed past his mother to enter his tent, the canvas flaps closing noisily behind him. He didn’t mean to be impatient with her, but he was already on edge and they were only a fortnight or so from the Twins now. The advantage of travelling with such a large host meant that he could delay seeing Walder Frey for a bit longer. The downside, unfortunately, was that travelling became tedious. There were only so many days he could take doing nothing like this. Robb itched to get the pleasantries over with the Freys and move on to assaulting Moat Caitlin. His plan hinged on him being able to move as quickly as possible before Theon Greyjoy and the ironborn had a chance to fortify it. His continued war with Tywin Lannister was dependent on him retaking Moat Caitlin, then the north, and coming back stronger than ever.

Robb’s mounting frustration with his mother, Theon, the Lannisters, and the whole bloody war was enough to start a pounding in his head that he just knew would get worse by the end of this conversation. He entered the sparsely decorated tent and searched for Talisa. Surely she was here and not attending to some other man, injured or not. Though, mayhaps it would be better if she weren’t there. Her presence would only exacerbate his mother and his mother’s sly comments would only irritate Talisa. 

“Your Grace,” Talisa greeted as she emerged from behind the bathing divider near the back of the tent. It seems as though he had interrupted her bath, something she seemed to want more frequently as her belly grew and swelled. She had dressed in a dressing gown that fell past her hands at the sleeves and tied snugly in the front. It was simple, but beautiful, just like her. 

Robb went to his wife and swept her hands in his. The corners of his deep blue eyes crinkled in joy. He brought their clasped hands up and brushed his lips against her now bare knuckles. His mother gasped, scandalized, but Robb ignored her. Here, at this moment with Talisa and his son, he was the most at peace. 

“Robb, I don’t think your lady mother can wait much longer. She looks quite cross with me,” Talisa whispered against his cheek. Rob chuckled to himself and smiled. Talisa was apparently in a better mood now than she had been the night before. The babe had been more active lately, and it made for a few uncomfortable nights for the two. 

“Well she won’t be that way forever. You are after all carrying the next Stark. Family, duty, and honor are above all else for my mother.”

“Be that as it may, the little prince isn’t here _now_.I’ll leave you to your conversation.”

“No, stay. It shouldn’t take long and then we can have time for the two of us.”

Talisa smiled softly and squeezed Robb’s hand in acquiescence before nodding at Catelyn and moving to sit at the table along the side of the tent. Robb mentally rolled his shoulders, trying to prepare for whatever it was his mother wanted to discuss. Too many of her decisions as of late had been ill-advised and Robb was wary of taking heed of her advice. 

“What is it, mother? We’re nearly to the Twins and, hopefully, to putting this all behind us.”

Catelyn straightened her spine, her eyes narrowed as she stared incredulously at her son. She clasped her hands tightly in front of herself, perhaps in an attempt to maintain enough control to not strangle her only son. 

“Robb...Your Grace,” she began impatiently. “You are right. We grow ever nearer the Twins and the full reach of Walder Frey. Will you not rethink this? I understand that we need Lord Frey’s permission to access the Westerlands, but son, perhaps we’re moving too fast right now.”

Robb ran a hand down his face, suddenly weary. 

“How are we possibly moving too fast now mother? We’re marching through the Riverlands too slowly and I’ve lost almost half of my forces. There is no moving too quickly now. Our speed is the only advantage we can possibly have over the ironborn and coming anywhere near where we need to be to end this war, retake my lands, and avenge my father!"

He sighed then, mentally and emotionally drained, and fell into the chair that had been designated as his throne. That’s what he felt like at this moment, a hodgepodge, mismatched collection of things that were almost, just not quite, good enough. He wished he could fall into Talisa’s arms and just sleep. At least then the constant pain, sorrow, and frustration would be gone, even if only for a moment. 

He felt a cool touch on his hand and looked up. His mother had come to kneel in front of him. Her eyes, so similar to his own, stared at him with sympathy. Robb breathed as he felt his mother’s hand tenderly cup his face in her hands, her eyes swimming with the tears he wished his own could shed. 

“You shouldn’t have this burden on you, son.”

“Burden? Mother, I never had a choice. Father would have done the same. He _did_ do the same.”

“It was different then, your father-”

“How, mother? My father helped his friend start a war because my grandfather and uncle were murdered and my aunt kidnapped. He didn’t hesitate. He did what needed to be done.”

Unsaid was that his father had kept his promises. Ned had made an oath to marry Catelyn in Brandon’s stead and, because of that, had received enough support from Hoster Tully to turn the tide in the war. Robb had done no such thing. Funny how winning an entire war could be boiled down to something as simple as marrying the right person, of keeping the right promise. Moments like this made Robb question if he had made the right decision. No matter. His father had drilled it into him that he must accept the consequences of his actions and his decisions, especially if he hoped to inspire others to follow him. 

“Your father could very well have been a Tully in another life. He was bound by honor and duty, yes, but most especially by family. There was nothing your father loved more than his family and he would do whatever he could to keep them safe.”

His mother rose to stand and walk to Talisa who had been silently watching the two. Catelyn smiled tightly at Talisa and Robb as she grabbed Talisa’s hand and pulled her to stand in front of Robb. 

“You don’t have much of your family left, Robb. She and the babe are your future. You have an honor and duty to her and to the north to keep your heir safe. It is still possible to send the queen away, perhaps to Seagard. Lord Mallister is ever loyal to my father, and thus you, and perhaps Lady Mormont is still there.”

“We’ve talked about this mother. I’ve already affronted Lord Frey by breaking my oath to marry one of his daughters. I won’t insult the man more by refusing an invitation that specifically included my queen. We will placate him, his ego will be satisfied, and then we can move on.”

Catelyn wrung her hands in front of her, her face drawn and pale. Robb hadn’t seen her like this since Bran’s fall. Her worry was more apparent and, if he were a more superstitious man, he might have given credence to the instincts she so strongly believed in. 

“You don’t know Walder Frey like I do, Robb. The man is cantankerous and surly and he will not be so quick to forgive such a grave slight. Is it not better to remain cautious in the face of such uncertainty?”

Robb scoffed then, his patience with his mother worn thin. Did she not believe in his authority as king? If his own mother doubted, what was the point of all of this?

“Enough, mother. Walder Frey has sworn allegiance to me and my cause. He will be unhappy but ultimately satisfied by uncle’s wedding and perhaps the gifting of certain lands. Talisa will be coming with us so we can be done. The sooner we put this behind us, the sooner I crush the ironborn where my father did not and end this war."

Catelyn opened her mouth to respond, but seemed to think better of it. She smiled, strained, and squeezed both Robb and Talisa’s hands. 

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Catelyn gave a short curtsey and turned to leave the tent, Grey Wind coming in behind her. The silence in the tent felt forced and oppressive. Leave it to his mother to bring up the uncomfortable subjects. Robb knew that Walder Frey wasn’t happy with him. Still, he would not further insult the man by deliberately snubbing his invitation. 

“She’s only worried about you,” Talisa said softly. 

She stepped closer to him and cradled his face in her hands. Robb breathed in deeply, comforted by the smell of medicinal herbs and lemons. Somehow his wife had found someone along their journey who made lemoncakes. Like his sister, Talisa also had an extreme fondness for them. It warmed his heart at the little connection the two unknowingly shared. 

“She may be worried, but her sentiment could mark the end of everything. I can’t afford to be ruled by fear or worry. You’ve seen the men. I’ve lost respect in their eyes. I cannot be seen making decisions that a soft-hearted woman would make.”

Talisa’s eyes narrowed at him in mock anger. 

“Women aren’t so soft, husband. Remember just how it was you came into this world. Still...Do you not think your mother has a point? About this Walder Frey?” 

Robb groaned as he could feel his annoyance building again. He sprawled in his throne and ran a hand through Grey Wind’s thick fur. The action soothed him when nothing else could. Robb would never admit it, but at times he relied more on Grey Wind’s instincts about a person or situation than his own. He hadn’t led him wrong yet. 

“I believe that mother believes that Walder Frey is dangerous. He’s really just a greedy old man who will probably insult us as much as he can and then move on. All he cares about is his image. If I can offer him something that makes him more esteemed, especially compared to my late grandfather, then it’s all the better.”

Besides, Walder Frey was too craven to actually attempt anything against him. Robb may have lost the Karstark men in the last few weeks, but he still had the Boltons, Glovers, and Mormonts, as well as other minor houses from both the North and the Riverlands. If it came down to it, Robb felt more confident about his own military might than Walder Frey’s. All he had to do now was make it through the wedding in almost a fortnight’s time and then he could finally shift his attention to more important things and destroy the Lannisters, that cunt Joffrey especially.

“Well, you are the king. And a clever and wise one as well. Still, men are often unpredictable, especially those who may be nearing death. If Lord Frey is as old as you say, he may be less afraid of you than he is of any perceived advantage for the future of his house.”

Talisa came and sat gingerly across his lap, her body flush against his. Robb cradled her gently, his hand moving to cup hers over the swell of her belly. She kissed him then, her lips warm and sweet against his own. 

“I know I would move heaven and earth if it meant protecting and providing for our child. What would you do?” she asked, pointedly. Robb sighed. She had a point, even if it was one he was grudging to admit. 

“I would do the same. Everything I’ve heard of Lord Frey speaks to him caring more for himself than any of his get. If I were to fear any betrayal it would be from the few Karstark men left or the Hornwoods. I’ve done more to slight them than anyone else. No, Walder Frey is a small man who wants to feel power. He’ll find veiled ways to insult or demean us, but he is harmless. We will be family after this wedding and that will mean more to him than anything else. 

“Besides,” Robb began as he rose from his throne, Talisa cradled in his arms, “I have fierce and loyal fighters in my honor guard as well as Grey Wind. We couldn’t be any safer. Now, enough talking. Your king will show you why you need not worry, my lady.”

Talisa laughed as Robb carried her to their bed. He laid her down gently and held himself over her. Robb marveled at the love and trust he saw shining in those dark eyes. If no one else, Talisa had faith in him. He would do anything for her, for their babe, even if it was as lowly as being insulted by Walder Frey. All that mattered was them. The lone wolf died but the pack survived and there, in the comforting confines of his tent, Robb was almost content with the pack he had found. They would make it through this. They had to.


	5. Chapter 4: Catelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for the continued love and all of your patience. I'm sorry it took so long to get this next chapter out, but we're so close to things really heating up. Catelyn was so hard for me to write. I didn't want to let my distaste for her come through, so I hope she still sounds true to character. As always, read, enjoy, and if you feel up to it, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The howling of wolves rent the silence of the early morning air. The loud, piercing sound woke her from an already troubled sleep. She sighed in exhaustion and picked at the fur bed covers, already fatigued at the thought of another day. Still, they should be within sight of the Twins by dusk and hopefully enjoying Walder Frey’s hospitality not long after. Her stomach tightened with unease as she thought once more on how easily Lord Frey had accepted the amended terms. 

While it was true that he had always been a loyal bannerman to her lord father, that often came with stalling and just enough grumbling to border on the edge of disrespect. None of that had happened here. Instead, if she almost thought as though he seemed too eager to accept her brother’s hand instead of her son’s. But why? The Seven save her brother but he was not as great of a match as Robb. 

Of course, perhaps Lord Frey had used one of his many sons or grandsons to spy on her father. It would only have been so easy to report back just how frail Lord Hoster was. In fact, loathe as she was to even think this, her father’s death may have been just the thing they needed to make Edmure more attractive. Afterall, her brother was now Lord of Riverrun in his own right and Walder Frey would finally have Riverrun in his craven grasp. All the better that he just had to wait for it and never directly challenge her father.

Catelyn sighed and attempted to clear such thoughts from her head. It wouldn’t do to think ill of the Freys when they were so willing to put Robb’s slight behind them. Of course, she hoped they remained as gracious when Robb sat under their roof and was a recipient of their hospitality with that woman next to him all the while. Catelyn vigorously washed her face in frustration and disgust. Had she and Ned taught Robb nothing? Honor from the Starks and honor from the Tully’s. Robb should never have made such a careless and _stupid_ mistake. 

She cursed Ned right then. Her boy would have been all the better of a man if it weren’t for that bastard. Between him and the iron born brat it was a wonder her Robb had come out with any honor at all. And to think, Robb still insisted on naming the bastard his heir, as if that foul get had any business butting into their lives anymore. No, she would rather see Winterfell a ruin before letting that bastard get his hands on anything. Of course, such thoughts would all be for naught. Once they were safely on the other side of The Crossing, she would insist that Robb send that girl away. Foreign whore she was, Catelyn did not think the girl was a fool. She would do what she could to protect her babe and in this, she and Catelyn would work together and convince Robb. 

“My lady,” a voice called from outside the tent, interrupting Catelyn’s thoughts.

Catelyn hurried to get dressed as she noticed the increasing clamor from outside. It seemed the rest of the camp had finally started stirring. She didn’t imagine it would be long before they broke camp and headed the rest of the way to the Twins. 

“One moment,” she replied.

She found the dress she had set out the night before, already prepared to greet Walder Frey at her best. He would find no weakness in her and, she hoped, none in her son as well. Catelyn stepped into the cool blue dress she had altered the night before. The practical wool creation had been altered some time ago to allow her to dress in it herself as she would not hinder Robb by requiring a full retinue of servants. 

To be better dressed for the dropping temperature Catelyn had added soft rabbit fur at the neck, a sort of collar, and had tightened the sleeves so they were no longer so open near her hands. She had spent the better part of the last two days stitching a subtle, alternating pattern, a row of wolves followed by a row of trouts in gray thread all down the gown’s bodice. All in all, she felt it was rather appropriate to greet the cantankerous old Walder Frey. She quickly braided her long auburn hair and carefully tucked it into the hood of her cloak before she fastened it. She was finally armored as a lady and ready to meet the day. 

As Catelyn exited the tent she noticed that the camp seemed more lively than usual. If it weren’t for how calm those around her were walking she would have worried that something horrible had happened. Still, she followed the guards Robb had insisted follow her until she made it to his tent, at the center of the camp. One day he would understand why she did what she did with the Lannister. One day he would trust her again. Still, something important must have happened. As she drew closer to Robb’s tent she noticed an ever growing number of people congregating. It seemed as though her son was ready to hold an audience, though for who and what she could not possibly imagine. 

Catelyn passed through the throng of men, her head held high. The thinly veiled anger in murmurs of “My Lady” and “Lady Stark” sliced her like a thousand knives. Even now, many weeks since she had released the Kingslayer, hostility in the camp was still high. Well, hostility towards her. Thankfully Robb seemed to have mollified the worst of his critics, though the loss of the Karstarks in addition to the Freys was a bitter thing to accept. Doing her best to ignore the glares and cutting remarks she was certain were being whispered, Catelyn swept into the tent behind her guard. She was surprised to see a rather full company of advisors in the tent, both Northern and Riverland lords alike. Whatever this was, it must have been serious.

She made her way to the center where Robb was seated in his raised dais, Talisa seated behind him. Catelyn curtsied, her greeting of “Your Grace” barely heard over the murmurs of the rest of the company. She waited for Robb to acknowledge her but it seemed that his mind was elsewhere. It wouldn’t do for the other lords to see that he wasn’t paying attention to them and their concerns. Catelyn locked eyes with Talisa and raised a delicate brow. She stiffened as Talisa smiled back at her, as though _humoring_ her, before leaning in to nudge Robb. Were the two of them completely unaware of how serious things were, especially now that everyone else had to pay for their foolhardy and impulsive decision. 

“Ah, mother,” Robb finally greeted. 

His crystalline eyes, so like her own, were widened ever so slightly. Catelyn recognized that look. It was often one that preceded him coming up with some kind of falsehood to shield the bastard from her wrath. What in the name of the Mother could have Robb looking so unsure of himself. This was a far cry from the man who had been keeping her at arms’ length for weeks now. No, now he finally resembled the boy Catelyn still saw and held in her heart. 

The room quieted as those around her realized their king had begun speaking. 

“My lords and lady mother, thank you for coming. I had not planned to have another war council until after we left the Twins, but some new information has become apparent. I received a raven from Lord Bolton and he already awaits us and speaks of Lord Frey’s hospitality. We should reach the Twins by nightfall and see my uncle married tomorrow.”

The assembled throng of lords looked at each other in confusion. Catelyn sidled up closer to her uncle to see that he too looked uncertain. If all were as well as it seemed to be, then why had Robb called a meeting like this?

“Of course things seldom go the way we plan. I have received new information that suggests caution in the face of Lord Frey’s hospitality and, because of that, I have new orders.”

Now Catelyn and the rest of the lords present did nothing to hide their confusion and for some, their outright suspicion. What kind of intelligence could Robb have received so suddenly to make him change his plans so abruptly? Catelyn was not a military mind but even she knew that the setbacks Robb’s host had suffered meant he could not afford to waste any unnecessary time. If he were talking about delaying his advance onto Moat Cailin, he would soon start to lose more respect of the other Northern lords. 

“As things stand now it is more important than ever for the men to have a victory. Moat Cailin remains crucial but the path to get there has changed. I will split our forces here to send half towards Seaguard before going through the Neck. The remaining forces will stay with me. We will reconvene with Lord Bolton and, once my uncle is married, head towards Moat Cailin from the eastern side of the Fork.”

Catelyn was shocked. Her son had given her no indication that he would choose such a drastic course of action, especially so close to Walder Frey’s eyes and ears. What new information could have influenced him so? 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but this is such an abrupt change. I don’t know that we will be able to do this and make it to the Twins by nightfall,” her uncle stated. 

Catelyn thought that was a rather mild way of asking her son if he had completely given leave of his senses. 

“Aye, Your Grace. The men were looking forward to the respite and revelry at the wedding feast. Surely we can split forces afterwards?” asked Edmure. 

Catelyn thought that was a sensible suggestion, if for no other reason to give the men a boost in morale now instead of some far off time in the future. While she was no fan of some of the more vulgar aspects of the wedding feast, she had no doubt the soldiers and their Lords would do what men did best: drink, be merry, and be all the more ready to fight for those creature comforts they were just reminded of. The sooner they made it to Moat Caitlin and got rid of those iron born, the sooner most of these men could go home. 

Despite the increasing sounds of approval in the tent, it did not look like Robb agreed. Whatever the boy chose to do now, she hoped it was tempered by his father’s influence and not hers. Robb stood from his makeshift throne and Catelyn knew this would not end well. The furrow between his brows and the downturn of his mouth were all Ned but the storm brewing in his deep blue eyes were all her. He opened his mouth to speak and Catelyn braced herself for whatever consequences were soon to be unleashed. 

“Is that how you speak to your king?” yelled a fierce, yet unfamiliar voice.

The growing furor in the tent quieted, the other lords and Catelyn looking around for the source. To her shock, it was a shorter man, bedecked in the colors of House Reed, who had spoken. The black lizard-lion standard on the front of his gambeson was obvious, if not also surprising. Though they were close to the Neck, Catelyn hadn’t heard of crannogmen appearing to other people without a _very_ good reason. What in the name of the Seven were they doing here?

Catelyn noticed that, like her, the other lords were shocked into silence. The crannogman took advantage of their silence and continued speaking, his tone full of censure and genuine anger.

“King Robb gave you a direct command. I do not know how seriously you take your oaths, but those of the Neck swear fealty and follow through.”

The man took a knee in front of Robb, the two figures who seemed to suddenly appear behind him following suit. 

“House Reed and the Neck remain loyal to you, Your Grace,” the man said. Robb nodded in response. The aggravation cleared from his face and he turned to sit back in his throne, Talisa still at his side. 

“As you can see, my lords, navigating the Neck will be far from impossible. Now, you have your orders. The lords of the Riverlands and Houses Glover and Mormont will remain with me at the Twins. The rest, prepare yourselves for a journey through the Neck. Northmen as you are, I doubt it will be pleasant.”

With that, Robb dismissed the other lords from the tent. The visitors from the Neck stood at the dismissal and Catelyn expected them to leave. Her mouth pursed in disapproval as she noticed them lingering. Robb hadn’t dismissed her yet so surely he needed to talk to her. These...people needed to leave. Catelyn cleared her throat delicately.

“Mother, thank you for your...patience. We have before us three honored guests from House Reed. Ser Rodrick Greengood, Lady Sheena Peat, and the Lady Bonnie, a ward of House Reed.”

Robb gestured to each in turn and they all bowed and curtsied in turn. 

Catelyn inclined her head gracefully to the knight and the lady, both from noble, if not reclusive, houses in the north. This _Lady_ Bonnie, however, gave her pause. Not only did she not have an identifiable house, but she was _foreign_. Her jade eyes almost sparkled in the dim light of the tent, bright and a direct contrast to the ochre of her skin. What kind of mischief could a Summer Islander possibly have so far north and, to that end, how had she infiltrated the secretive and wary House Reed? 

Unusual appearance aside, this Lady Bonnie didn’t behave like a proper lady. Her chin was jutted forward in defiance, as if she knew what Catelyn thought about her. Her eyes blazed with an almost palpable heat and Catelyn had to finally look away. The impertinence, the unnaturalness of it all! Leave it to her son to be fooled yet again by an admittedly pretty face. If she could do it all over again, Catelyn would limit the time Robb and Theon spent together. Her son would not have been nearly so foolish if he had had a proper influence growing up.

“Mother,” Robb began, drawing her out of her thoughts. 

“It seems that there is a rather serious matter we have to discuss.”

Catelyn felt her heart quicken. She glanced at the Reed ward in alarm. Surely Robb wouldn’t discuss sensitive information in front of someone he didn’t know he could trust, ward of a noble house or not. He should remember how trusting someone of lower stock turned out. Afterall, part of the motivation behind this wedding was to get to the north faster so they could clean up the Greyjoy boy’s mess. 

“Robb, Your Grace, surely such a sensitive matter is better left until we are alone,” she said with a meaningful glance in the Reed ward’s direction. She thought she heard a muffled laugh, or scoff, and the tips of her ears burned. How dare they be so disrespectful!

Robb sighed, and even Talisa looked weary. Catelyn knew then that perhaps she misjudged the situation. If Robb had chosen to have them stay behind after the other lords, then perhaps it was the other lords who weren’t to be trusted. 

“Forgive me a mother’s foolishness, Your Grace,” she said as she curtsied. She heard Robb sigh again and felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. 

“Of course, Mother. Come, sit with us while we break our fast and tell you a bit more of what our plan is.” 

Robb led her to the table that had a simple meal of cheese, hard bread, and salted meat already prepared. Catelyn noticed with a small amount of pride that Robb had a small serving of spiced fruit already set aside for Talisa. It must have been a craving. 

As they all sat around the table, Catelyn thought it odd and interesting that the Reed ward often looked to Sheena or Talisa before doing something. It was if she were uncomfortable and doing her best to mimic them. For a brief moment Catelyn felt pity for the girl. No matter the circumstances, being so far from home was a tough thing to become accustomed to. If the girl wanted to survive in the north, she needed to learn how things worked, and quickly. 

“Now that we’re all comfortable, it’s time to address the circumstances of our meeting,” Robb announced.

Catelyn hadn’t expected him to begin things so abruptly, but she supposed she couldn’t fault him. All of a sudden things seemed to be moving so quickly. 

“Mother, we have a traitor in our midst. Or well, a supposed traitor.”

Robb’s voice even and devoid of emotion. A traitor? If that were really the case, Catelyn would have expected him to go about yelling and swearing, king or no. Her son could not stomach traitors, not after the Greyjoy boy. 

“Traitors? What do you mean? And how do you know?” Catelyn asked.

She looked around and the lump that had appeared in her throat sunk to her stomach. It seemed as though this news wasn’t surprising to their honored guests. That was one question answered. Catelyn jumped at the sound of parchment slapping against wood. With trembling fingers she picked up the letter, observing the broken lizard-lion seal of House Reed. This was official then. 

Catelyn felt both curious and wary. Ned had never told her much about Howland Reed, just that he was an honorable man and one that Ned trusted with his life and the lives of his children. For Ned to have given such an enthusiastic endorsement of the man, this Howland Reed must have done something powerfully loyal in the past. 

She quickly read the short letter, her eyes misting over at the expressed sympathy for Ned’s death. She blinked away tears and continued reading, disbelief and horror becoming apparent in her face. How did Lord Reed come to find this information and why hadn’t he said anything sooner?

_To the fierce and just Young Wolf, Robb Stark, first of his name and King of the North._

_Your Grace, may this letter find you well and strong, a credit to the most honest and noble House Stark, that from which your esteemed father Lord Eddard, hailed. My deepest condolences on the death of Lord Eddard. He was a fierce and just lord and an honorable and true friend. I have charged this letter with those I trust above all, outside of the family of my house._

_I fear that I bring ill-tidings, Your Grace. It has come to my attention that deceit and treachery have been plotted against your house and your cause. There have been increased sightings of ravens flying from Winterfell to south of the Neck. A few of these ravens had unfortunate accidents, as is wont to happen in the Neck, and their letters were read. House Bolton controls Winterfell, Your Grace. The ironborn were driven out, though no news remains of Theon Greyjoy. Scouts confirm an ironborn presence at Moat Caitlin, but I cannot be sure how long that will remain._

_I leave you with this. Is it not interesting that Lord Bolton has taken Winterfell from the ironborn but has not spread word of his success? There are whispers about what goes on in the Dreadfort and I can confirm it. Trust Lady Bonnie, Your Grace. I have seen it with my own eyes. She is a gift from the old gods and as...unusual as she may seem, she lives and breathes for the north. Winter is coming, Your Grace, and you need all of the allies you can find. If you still doubt me, test her character with your direwolf. They are said to see beyond the surface._

_Your ever loyal and faithful bannerman, Lord Howland Reed._

Catelyn breathed shakily as she finished the letter. It would seem that Ned’s suspicions about Roose Bolton may have been correct after all. He always thought there was something _more_ going on behind those cold eyes. She would argue that plotting to take over Winterfell was definitely something. Still, this letter was hardly proof. Lord Bolton didn’t have many friends among the northmen, but he did have a strong army. Any action taken against him would have to be carefully planned and thought out. 

“I’m assuming everyone else has read or knows of the contents of this letter?” Catelyn finally asked.

The grim expressions on everyone’s faces confirmed her fear. It would have been better if as few people knew about this treachery as possible. 

“What are you going to do Your Grace? Roose Bolton is already waiting for us at the Twins. I can’t imagine he’ll want to keep Winterfell as his secret for much longer,” she continued. 

Robb nodded and stood, his expression weary. Catelyn didn’t envy him. It seemed as though enemies and obstacles were arising at every opportunity. If only he still had the support of the Karstarks! They would help enforce whatever actions Robb took against Bolton.

“If I may, Your Grace,” a soft voice began.

Catelyn frowned. No matter what Howland Reed said, she couldn’t understand how this slip of a girl could be trusted, especially with something so important. 

“Yes, Lady Bonnie?”

“I can’t speak for what may be happening at Winterfell, but I can say that Roose Bolton is a-”

“ _Lord_ Roose Bolton,” Catelyn interrupted frostily.

Traitor or no, this girl would show the proper respect. Catelyn wasn’t prepared for the icy glare she received in response and nearly took a step backward, only to be reminded that she was still sitting. Just as quickly as the look came, it vanished, leaving the girl with a carefully schooled expression that Catelyn wasn’t prepared for. 

“Pardon. _Lord_ Roose Bolton is a dangerous man who shouldn’t be trusted. If I may speak frankly Your Grace, you should kill him and those most loyal to him as soon as you can.” 

Catelyn gasped in shocked outrage and saw that even Robb and Talisa looked aghast at her suggestion, while the crannogmen companions looked resigned. Surely she couldn’t really be a ward of Howland Reed. Ned had always spoken of how gentle and unassuming the man was. 

“My lady,” began Talisa gently.

Catelyn recognized the tone as one she used when she was treating ill or injured soldiers in the camp, but she doubted this girl would take well to such a tone. 

“With all due respect, Your...Highness, I know what I’m talking about. Let’s cut to the chase. As Howland...Lord Reed mentioned, you could say that I’ve been touched by your old gods. I’ve seen into Roose Bolton’s heart and he is evil to the core. He tortures and kills for the pleasure of it and he has no love for you, Your Grace, or your house. And, in the event you don’t believe I could know all of this, here is your proof.”

The girl waved a hand almost imperiously and Catelyn shrank back in fear as the candles which had been burning steadily suddenly grew several inches in height. The heat emanating from them was fierce and somehow loud in Catelyn’s ear to the point she could barely hear Robb’s gasp of surprise or Talisa’s shriek of alarm. Just as quickly as they came, the tall flames extinguished, leaving Catelyn’s eyes burning and the room in darkness. 

“I apologize for the theatrics,” the girl, Bonnie, began. “Contrary to what some of you may be thinking, no I am not some simple firemage or sorcerer who has parlor tricks up her sleeves. I am the real deal and I pledge my fealty to you, Your Grace, to protect the people of this land from injustice and danger, natural or otherwise. Now, let’s have some light.”

That was an interesting choice of words. She would have to bring it up with Robb when they had a moment of privacy. Catelyn blinked slowly as her eyes adjusted to the now soft flames that flickered from the candles around the tent. 

Robb, for his part, looked to be deep in thought, his arms in a protective embrace around Talisa. He had gotten up to comfort and protect her and Catelyn relished these little insights into the type of husband and father he would be. Perhaps it would be wise of him to heed the girl’s warning. 

“I appreciate your...candor, my lady, but we cannot simply execute the lord of a noble house for no reason. I do accept that, perhaps in light of the Winterfell news, we are cautious with Lord Bolton moving forward. It is why the Mormonts and Glovers will be with us at the wedding feast this evening. If something were to go wrong, I’d prefer to have those with a long history of loyalty towards House Stark attending me.”

“And what of your Queen?” asked Catelyn.

She hated that the question had to come from her, but it was probably more important that Talisa be safe as well. 

“I appreciate your concern, Mother, but Talisa will be safe at my side. My honor guard is more than enough to protect both myself and her. And, there is also Grey Wind, fierce as he is. He never leaves my side,” Robb said assuredly.

He whistled sharply and Catelyn looked on as Grey Wind entered the tent after what she could only assume was a successful morning hunt. She watched as Grey Wind loped, not to Robb or even Talisa, but to Bonnie! Even more shocking was the apparent delight and ease on the girl’s face as she got on the ground, dress and all, to rub Grey Wind’s sticky belly. 

“Are you sure about that, Your Grace?” Talisa asked, surprised and amused at the direwolf’s antics. 

“Pup-like behavior aside, Grey Wind is certainly a fierce companion. Still, Lady Stark is right, Robb. Would it be so wrong to err on the side of caution? Maybe we should plan for me to be elsewhere, especially if you don’t trust Lord Bolton. I could easily go with the other northern lords, through the Neck,” she continued. 

For the first time since knowing her, Catelyn could hear a hint of genuine fear and worry in Talisa’s voice. She watched as Robb smiled tenderly at Talisa, his hand going to the obvious swell of her stomach. Catelyn looked away at the intimate scene, her heart bursting with pride, yet breaking at the reminder of memories and stolen futures. 

She looked across the table and noted that the other members of noble houses had the decency to look uncomfortable while the girl, _Lady Bonnie_ she forcibly reminded herself, stared. Catelyn wasn’t sure what emotions crossed the girl’s face, but she didn’t like it. What was to stop this chit from plotting something against her son and now good-daughter? Catelyn knew nothing about this girl, but her mysterious heritage was enough to fester the seed of distrust and paranoia that had been growing in her since they learned about the Greyjoy boy. Nothing good came from trusting those of a lower stock. 

“If it pleases Your Grace, I may have a solution. I’ve heard how important...appearances are here and I am sure that I can fashion a protective charm for Her Grace. All I need is something that is constantly worn. I could even fashion something for you too, King Robb. All I need is privacy and the space to do it.”

“Will this do?”

Catelyn gaped in disbelief that her son offered his private and secure lodgings to such an unknown character. Before she could suggest otherwise, the impertinent girl curtsied, rather prettily Catelyn would say, and smiled at Robb and Talisa. 

“Yes, of course Your Grace. I will do everything in my power to protect your growing family. Nothing comes before family,” she said, almost fiercely, her voice wavering slightly.

It was a great mummer’s act, Catelyn had to admit. If she were a weaker woman she would have been swayed by it, as Talisa seemed to be. Her son’s wife walked around the table to sweep the young woman into her arms in an encompassing embrace, sympathy evident on the queen’s face. Catelyn frowned slightly. She couldn’t understand how everyone seemed to be taken with this girl so quickly. She was obviously a fraud, or worse, a spy sent by Robb’s enemies. The crannogmen were reclusive and probably easy enough to impersonate. Catelyn desperately needed to speak to Robb or Talisa, alone. 

For now, all she could do was watch as Talisa comforted the girl and they made plans for the king’s tent to be free for an hour, while they walked around the camp, bolstering spirits and ensuring the men knew of the change in plans. Catelyn followed respectfully behind them, her unease at the girl being alone in the tent tempered by the fact that Robb left two guards outside of it. This Lady Bonnie wouldn’t be able to sneak off at least, a small comfort to Catelyn. 

She noticed that Robb and Talisa had finally made their way around the center of the camp and had made their way to an isolated tree. It has been designated as an unofficial place of prayer and contemplation by the men, and for once Catelyn was glad of continued northern superstition. She approached Robb then, careful to keep her expression schooled and her posture as open as possible. It wouldn’t do for him to immediately become defensive. 

“Your Grace, may I speak with you?”

Robb looked at Talisa, as if they expected Catelyn to initiate this conversation, and he sighed before nodding his head. 

“Your Grace, son, while it is wise to take caution at the possibility of traitorous activity, is it really wise to put so much trust in someone you do not know for yourself, and a woman at that? A man is different as he can prove himself in battle, but all we have are pretty words of loyalty and fealty and the assurance of people who could have been bewitched or influenced by this girl for her own motives. What if she’s a spy? Wouldn’t it be better to send the queen away with the other forces, if you’re truly worried about treachery, than to blindly trust this waif of a girl?” Catelyn asked, heatedly. 

Perhaps she was a little too emotional, but surely Robb could see how foolish this was. However, the resigned look of disappointment and frustration on his face told her otherwise. It seemed that her son hadn’t learned his lesson and he was still fooled by a pretty face. 

“Mother, thank you for your candor, but I do not make this decision lightly. Not only do I trust no one but myself to keep Talisa safe, it would be an even graver insult to Walder Frey if she were to suddenly disappear. I don’t doubt that he has already been told of how she has travelled with us thus far and how I would more than likely bring her with me to my uncle's wedding.

“I have no quarrel with House Frey and suspect that perhaps he would be willing to host Talisa safely if things were to become violent with the Boltons. You and Talisa will be with me to greet Lord Frey and celebrate uncle’s wedding. My word is final,” he announced before turning his back to her. 

Grey Wind, who had been trailing behind them quietly came to stand behind Robb and Talisa now, an effective barrier if she had ever seen one. Very well then, Catelyn thought to herself. She didn’t know what she did to deserve such a willful and blind son, but she would do her part. She would also make sure this girl did nothing to threaten her son or grandchild’s life, by the seven. No matter what. 


	6. Chapter 6: Bonnie

**A/N: Thank you all for your continued support and patience. The last couple of months have been crazy, but this story has always been in the back of my mind. I'm hoping to get another chapter posted this month as well, though with NaNo that may not happen as soon as I'd like. Still, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and, as always, please let me know your thoughts if you're so inclined.**

The chill of the morning air was nothing compared to the chill of Lady Stark's personality. It hadn't been long since Bonnie had made her presence known in the Stark camp and the welcome she received was honestly warmer than she had expected. At least, from the Northmen. She found that only slightly ironic as based on what she had read from Howland's library, most people outside of the region viewed Northmen as either savage compared to their Southron neighbors or just plain rude and inhospitable. So far Bonnie didn't doubt that to be true, however it also seemed that these Northern folk put a heavy emphasis on trusting people at their word. Though she could see the wariness and apprehension in many a soldier's eyes, they were polite enough to not speak anything untowards to her and treated her with the respect that a ward of a noble house was due. Those from the Riverlands were of an entirely different sort.

Bonnie could practically feel their disdain whenever she walked through the camp. All she could conclude was that word had quickly spread of just how much Lady Stark disliked her presence and these Riverlords, ever loyal to their liege, followed suit. While annoying, it was not life threatening, which is all that Bonnie tried to concern herself with at the moment. Ever since she entered the Young Wolf's encampment she felt nothing but cold disdain from the Riverlords. The few smallfolk she, Rodrick, and Sheena had been able to talk to had made it seem as though the current state of affairs in the Riverlands was in no small part due to outsiders. Part of the sentiment was understandable. The Riverlands was the latest casualty in the increasing hostilities between the Crown and the North. Not only were the smallfolk being affected by a decrease in food because of the need to feed soldiers, they were also more likely to be victims of random violence. Between The Mountain and the Brotherhood Without Banners, led in part by a zealot of a strange and foreign god, the lawlessness in the region had begun to lead to a general xenophobia.

Bonnie was grateful at least that she wasn't alone here. Sheena, Rodrick, and the rest of their small party from the Neck stood out amongst the rest of these Riverland folk and, perhaps intentionally, had been acting as somewhat of a barrier between Bonnie and the hostile glances of the rivermen. Of course, that was earlier, when they were all still together. Robb Stark had wasted no time in ensuring that his orders were followed. Not long after being left alone to complete her protective spellwork, Bonnie could hear the beginning of hurried activity in the camp. It seemed that no one wanted to waste any bit of light, which was understandable. Those who would be going through the Neck had begun to separate themselves from the others, preparing the horses, wagons, and men for the treacherous journey through the swamp. Though their journey would be more straightforward, it was bound to take longer. Even with the guidance from the expert crannogmen, nasty surprises were sure to befall the group. Bonnie shuddered herself as she recalled her first encounter with a lizard-lion. It was almost as terrifying as a werewolf, and that, to her, was saying something. Most animals she had seen in Westeros were very familiar to those back home. Some were also very dissimilar.

Supposing that all went as it should, Bonnie would be back in the safety of Greywater Watch, doing what she could to keep her newfound haven safe and protected. That would largely depend on the outcome of this encounter with old Lord Frey. With as miserly and grudging as everyone described the man, Bonnie was very surprised to learn that he was still so...trusted. All they had was his word that he would honor this new agreement, an agreement they were forced to make after young King Robb had broken the last agreement. While it was true that old Frey was going to be good-father to the next Lord of Riverrun, it was nothing compared to being good-father to a king. Common sense alone told Bonnie that sweet words and gestures wouldn't be enough to satisfy the Freys, but unfortunately for her, she also had the Sight and saw just how horrible the consequences of betraying Walder Frey was. He was the worst kind of man, greedy and vindictive to a fault, and he wouldn't be satisfied until blood was spilled.

_Unease. She wanted to pace the confines of her cage but it was too small. The liars were near. She snarled, anxious, and snapped at them through the bars. They could not be trusted._

_Panic. Armor, at a wedding? There could only be one reason for that. Terror. Her son, where was he?_

_Surprise. Pain. Fear. The blood was so warm and felt so different coming from her. The coppery tang was stronger, her senses getting weaker. She wanted to reach out for him, her husband. Reach into her and comfort him, her babe. Slipping, slipping, gone._

_Confusion. Disbelief. Despair. Her life, her wife, lying there on the floor. She was slipping away no matter how tightly she held her. She was gone, gone. An ally? No, betrayal. There was no strength to be angry, no strength to fight back. She too, was gone._

_Gone. Snap! Untethered and no longer bound. She was furious. They took everything. She would do the same. Crunch, rip, then warmth in her mouth. Then pain all over. She was pierced, stabbed, desecrated. Her blood flowed, unstaunched and unimpeded as though she were a fine wine on tap._

_Swords and arrowheads morphed into undead fangs and knives. She was no longer them, but her, living once more in a misty, mystical town and through the lies and betrayal. Stabbed and forgotten under the watchful eye of the black crow. Damon? No, not a crow. A raven with a third, unnatural eye that stared at her as though it wanted to pierce her very soul. She wanted to reach for her head, to block out the pain, but nothing worked. Her hands were bound. She couldn't move._

Bonnie had woken that night with a gasp and a surge of magic so powerful it left her light-headed and covered in blood. Nosebleeds hadn't happened for her in so long that she was caught completely unawares. She was thankful that Sheena had been on guard first that night, and not in the room, as Bonnie was sure her magic would have lashed out at the closest person, friend or foe, and caused serious harm. That was the dream Bonnie had been cursed with nightly since she met Roose Bolton. Sometimes the details changed. Sometimes she saw desecration that made her stomach turn. Sometimes she saw betrayal that made her soul burn and ire rise. She had to remind herself that these events hadn't happened yet and, more importantly, she was here to make sure they didn't happen. Of course that would be easier if she didn't feel like she was being blocked at every turn.

The protection charms she had fashioned should be enough to keep the royal family from harm, just as long as everyone wore their emblem constantly. Bonnie had become much better with her hands over the last few months in Westeros. First it was needlework, because Howland thought it appropriate that a young female ward of House Reed be knowledgeable in the more"womanly" arts. Needlepoint would not have been Bonnie's first choice of a skill to learn, but she couldn't deny that it was useful. Her fingers had grown more dexterous and, oddly enough, she found the practice of sewing and embroidering to be calming and grounding. It was upon accident that she discovered how she had been able to imbue some of her magic into the things she weaved. Rodrick had been teasing Bonnie about just how well she took to sewing and had joked that Bonnie should be careful or she would soon find herself married, what with skills like hers.

Bonnie had laughed and told Rodrick that he would be her first choice and had later given him a shirt that had his name stitched on the chest, right where the heart would be. She enjoyed seeing the usually stoic man blush and fumble a bit, unsure of himself. He had eventually laughed and their day continued, Bonnie thinking no more on her gift. Not until he came back from a routine patrol of the Neck, shaken and bruised. Bonnie had been surprised when Howland had called for her to meet with him and Rodrick for what seemed like a serious matter. Friends they were, they were also still very male and did not usually involve her in more than was necessary. Discussing a recent patrol was far from necessary. However, Bonnie soon realized why the two of them wanted to meet with her.

_She entered Howland's solar, a bit surprised that Rodrick was here instead of with the maester. Bonnie had heard whispers of how bad Rodrick looked and how he was the only one out of the patrol party of three to return. She had said a silent blessing for the two crannogmen who died and for the fact that Rodrick was still alright. Whoever said Rodrick was "alright" had been lying._

_The Rodrick that greeted Bonnie was barely recognizable. She could just make out the hazel of his eyes from the swelling on his face. Bonnie still wasn't an expert on medieval injuries, but she would hazard a guess that Rodrick came very close to being trampled by some creature. His face was a mottled red that had darkened to purple in some places and his left eye had been covered by a bandage. She could only hope that the eye itself was still present and functioning. Rodrick's right arm had been wrapped and bound into a sling that was secured tightly to his chest, his right hand clutching at the cloth in front of his heart._

" _Ah, my lady, would you believe it isn't as bad as it looks?" Rodrick asked gruffly. Even his voice was worse than usual, sounding gravelly instead of the soothing gruff she normally heard._

" _Rodrick! What happened? You look as though you should be asleep right now, not having clandestine meetings with Howland," Bonnie had whispered, her eyes narrowing first at Rodrick and then at Howland._

_While they would normally react, this time both men barely flinched. Something Bonnie would otherwise admire only served to incense her more. Here she was, thinking she was somehow helping them become more "modern" and Rodrick had to go and practically get trampled. What was she going to do with them?_

" _Lady Bonnie, thank you for coming so quickly," Howland said. He ushered her into the room and closed the door firmly behind her._

" _Did you bring one of your candles?" he asked._

_Bonnie nodded, slightly confused. She had told Howland about some of her more useful spells, which included the sage candles she could burn to ensure privacy. At the time she mentioned it he had mused on how useful such a thing would be, but otherwise said nothing of it. At least, not until now._

" _I always have a candle on me. If I've learned nothing else these past few months, moons, it's that I should always be prepared. What is going on?" Bonnie asked, determined to get some kind of answer out of one of them._

_Howland merely shook his head and gestured for her to proceed. Bonnie frowned and huffed in annoyance before taking the candle out of one of the hidden pockets she had recently sewn into her dresses. She quickly walked around the room, ensuring that all doors and windows were properly closed, before placing the candle on the desk. She snapped and watched, satisfied, as a flame erupted and the scent of sage quickly filled the room. Gods, she would never get tired of that._

" _Thank you, my lady. I apologize for the secrecy, but you will soon understand why. Rodrick, if you will," Howland said and gestured to Rodrick before sitting behind the desk in the room. Bonnie quickly followed suit. If the looks on their faces were anything to go by, then this would be an unsettling conversation._

" _As you know milady, we regularly patrol around the borders of the Neck. This is partly to ensure that no one stumbles upon Greywater Watch that's not meant to and also just to get a general idea of what's happening outside. Well, past patrols had made mention of more sightings of wildlings and so we decided to patrol a little further out. It wasn't the smartest thing to do as we should have planned for more men. This last patrol, me and the lads were surprised by a small band of wildlings, no more than seven or so._

_Well, they caught us unawares meaning we weren't prepared. Because of that, one of the lads, Steffon, went down almost immediately. By the time me and Harold were prepared to fight we were already surrounded. We put up a good fight, but those wildlings were different. It's almost like they were desperate to get somewhere and we were just in their way. We fought as well as we could and I still managed to get the shite kicked out of me, begging your pardon. I remember getting backed into a corner and then feeling this pain in my chest. I looked down and saw a spear sticking straight out of me."_

_At this Rodrick paused to mop at his sweaty forehead and Bonnie couldn't blame him. It sounded like he had been through a near death experience and she knew personally how jarring those could be. At the same time, he was an experienced fighter. Was being stabbed really so...odd?_

" _Forgive me, Rodrick if I sound callous but, was that what all the secrecy was for? That the wildlings are getting bolder?"_

" _No, milady, if only it were that simple. I don't think you understood me. That spear was sticking straight out of my chest, right where my heart is," Rodrick said solemnly._

_He tapped his fingers against the spot she knew the heart to be. Unless he happened to have a birth defect where his heart was on the other side, which she doubted anyone in Westeros had, Rodrick was stabbed in the heart. He should have been dead, not almost casually telling his story in the middle of Howland's solar._

" _What happened? You should be dead!" Bonnie whispered in disbelief._

" _Did one of those nuts from Asshai find you? That's dark magic and it shouldn't be messed with lightly," she continued, her throat tight._

" _No, milady. You found me. The old gods were looking down on me because I happened to wear your shirt that day, the one you made for me, with my name. I came to some time later to this feeling of warmth, right here, over my heart and the exact spot you stitched my name. The only difference was now my name was missing and my wound had started healing. Not only that, but I was laid there, practically dead, for gods know how long and nothing attacked or attempted to eat me. All I can say is that your magic somehow protected me, milady, and for that I am forever grateful and in your debt."_

_Bonnie sat, stunned, as Rodrick finished his tale. That sounded like magic but it wasn't something she remembered doing. She hadn't felt the pull on her magic she normally felt after healing though...she did remember feeling unusually tired after she finished stitching the specialty clothes for her friends. Bonnie had assumed it was because she was pushing herself to finish so much in so little time, but it seemed like it was more that she was casting unintentionally. This was...different. The longer she spent in Westeros, the more her powers surprised her and while it all seemed to be good changes for now, she couldn't help but feel like she was being set up to be part of something greater. She absolutely abhorred the idea of being a pawn, but if it meant she could keep her newfound family safe, then who was she to shun this new gift._

" _That explains the candles then," she finally murmured. Bonnie looked at Rodrick and Howland and knew that they hoped for some sort of answer from her. She sighed. "I don't know what happened Rodrick, Howland. This has never happened before. I usually have to be present and consciously casting for my magic to take effect. The only thing that sounds remotely similar was a spell I put on an object once, but it was more about creating protection from one specific thing. Healing is complex. I've never been able to heal with an object before. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful."_

_Bonnie looked down at the hands that were clasped in her lap. Somehow it always came down to her being the magical expert. And somehow, yet again, she was letting people down. Maybe being a Bennett was more of a curse than anything else, legacy be damned. She hated the niggling doubt that started to form then. If she weren't so useful and knowledgeable in magic, was there any real use for her there? Surely it would be easier for Howland and the rest of Greywater Watch if she just left. She was a foreigner after all and-_

_Bonnie looked up as Howland gently touched her face, stopping her spiraling thoughts. The gesture was unexpected, intimate, and familial, everything Bonnie didn't realize she craved until now._

" _Bonnie, we don't expect you to know everything. If you want to learn more, we can try to help you understand what is happening. If you don't want to learn more, believe me when I say the maester would be more than happy to continue teaching you more of Westeros history and herblore. We're here to help you decide whatever is best and safest for you, that's it," Howland said, calm and assured._

_Bonnie blinked back tears. When was the last time someone said they were looking out for her, specifically? Her thoughts were so quick to spiral to the negative and ignore all of the good Howland and his people had done for her. She could trust them. Even if her mind were slow to catch up, her heart and magic already knew it to be true. She would take this leap of faith and trust that things would work out. After all, her Grams had basically promised that, didn't she?_

" _You're right, Howland. We can figure this out together. But first, let's see if we can speed up your healing even more Rodrick," Bonnie said. If her magic wanted to heal, she may as well give it some practice._

Bonnie had felt guilty over the next couple of months but it was all worth it. First Rodrick, then Sheena, had volunteered to undergo minor injuries so Bonnie could test the extent of her expressed healing powers. She eventually learned that her connection to the recipient was the most important and that the spells were made even stronger by some sort of "sacrifice." Usually it was as simple as a small trinket, but stronger protective spells required a stronger anchor to the recipient. She couldn't very well ask Talisa Stark for her blood in front of her husband and mother-in-law. If Catelyn Stark hated her before, she'd probably actually call for Bonnie's head if she thought Bonnie was using dark magic.

Fortunately, Bonnie had a little time to snoop and had found some of the young queen's hair in a brush. Bonnie was still learning about the properties of certain Westeros plants, but there were a few that seemed very similar to their Earth counterparts. Before Bonnie left the Neck she had insisted on being taken back to the spot where Howland had first found her. It had actually turned into a little alcove that had one of her favorite flowers, lilacs, growing in the middle of it. She didn't want to second guess her ancestors, but they really knew what they were sending her into. Not only was lilac great for protection, but Bonnie's personal affinity for it would also hopefully strengthen the spells she used it for, like now.

Not too lost in thought, Bonnie had managed to crush enough lilac petals to extract the oil from them. She used that to coat her hands, thread, and needle while she stitched a sigil into Queen Talisa's dress. She had even found a winter rose and decided to pin that to the dress as well, right above the heart. Overall, the stitching was quite stunning, with the outline of a fierce gray wolf with shining yellow eyes, howling at the blue winter rose moon. Admittedly, it was a bit...much, but Bonnie hoped the intricacy woven into the stitching would translate into the protection spell as well. That, combined with the two rings she had blessed with the leftover lilac oil, should be strong enough to protect the young king and queen from the foulness Walder Frey had planned. Of course, in the event that still didn't work, Bonnie planned on sticking by their side long enough to ensure this blasted wedding went smoothly so they could continue on to Greywater Watch as quickly as possible.

Bonnie had decided it would be better to wait for the king and queen to return to their tent, instead of looking for them. Tensions were already high in that camp and she did not want to do anything to further increase them. Presenting those two with the fruits of her magical labor might raise a few brows. Thankfully, she had Sheena to keep her company while she waited. Well, Sheena and Grey Wind, surprisingly. The large direwolf had come back into the tent just as she had finished casting the protective enchantments. Bonnie would almost swear that the creature was a bit sentient, and thus had respectfully kept his distance while she did what she needed to do. If it were a regular wolf, that idea would be ludicrous. However, Bonnie had felt a keen connection with Grey Wind. Perhaps it was because of the dreams she had been having or perhaps it was because there was something magical about him and his littermates, from what she had heard. Regardless, Bonnie enjoyed the company and, perhaps unbecoming for a woman of her station, was currently rolling around on the ground of the tent, playing with the large wolf.

Fun had become a bit of a foreign concept to Bonnie. Back in Mystic Falls, the funnest thing she had done before the journey was watch Damon make those ridiculous pancakes. Here in Westeros, the most fun she had recently was actually training with Rodrick. It was perhaps an unusual thing to claim was fun, and her old friends would have looked at her as though she were crazy. Still, Bonnie loved the feeling of power she got when she successfully landed a hit on Rodrick. The spear was nothing compared to a sword, but it still allowed Bonnie to protect herself without having to depend on her magic or the others. That itself was thrilling.

Just as thrilling right now was playing with Grey Wind. She was certain the time was nearing for them to finish their preparations and make their way to the Twins. The crannogmen party had made themselves known just before dawn and now it was a couple of hours after. Bonnie had already said her goodbyes to Rodrick and the other crannogmen that had accompanied them on this journey so now it was just she and Sheena who would be representing House Reed at the wedding. The thought of dealing with so many nobles made her want to cry. So for now, rolling around in the dirt with Grey Wind, and feeling so light and connected with her magic and her heritage, was exactly what she needed. At least, it was until she heard muffled laughter coming from behind her. Bonnie tried to crane her neck to see around Grey Wind's mass and determine just who was laughing at her. Perhaps she looked a little odd pinned to the ground under the wolf, her own leg wrapped around Grey Wind's hind legs, as she had been attempting to gain leverage to flip and pin him. Bonnie glared at Sheena, who was supposed to be a lookout, but who had instead ended up nodding off to sleep over in the corner. Some help she was.

"My mother would die if she saw this and my sister...my sister would beg to join you."

Bonnie pushed even harder at Grey Wind to get him off of her so she could face the king with some sort of respectability. The direwolf chuffed and shook his head at her before licking her face and padding to the entrance of the tent, to stand at the king's side. She quickly stood and brushed at her dress, attempting to clear the dirt from her dress while subtly glancing at the king. Robb Stark made a fine image right then, a formidable image even, and she understood why so many men still fought at his side. Still, she couldn't help but feel a connection to him, as someone who had also been forced to grow up entirely too quickly. The wistfulness and pain in his voice was well-hidden, but Bonnie could still make it out. She had heard of his willful younger sister, Arya Stark, and how no one had really heard much of her since their father's execution. The limbo of not knowing was torture, and Bonnie would not wish that on anyone. Well, perhaps Kai, but hopefully Damon had taken care of him.

"Apologies, Your Grace," she finally said and dipped into a clumsy curtsy. The king waved his hand and she relaxed, minutely, before she saw him staring bemusedly at Sheena. Gods help her, if it wasn't one thing it was another.

"Are all of the people in the Neck so...relaxed?" he finally asked.

Bonnie sighed and closed her eyes, wishing for patience. At least the young king seemed to have a relatively good deal of patience and humor.

"I wouldn't really know, Your Grace. The people of the Neck are the only real experience I've had with you Westerosi," Bonnie replied and almost immediately regretted. She could see the spark of curiosity in his eyes then and she really hoped he wasn't about to ask her more about her home. That was a story she and Howland still hadn't been able to flesh out the way she wanted. Thankfully, the queen and queen mother entered at that point, saving Bonnie from answering. She curtsied again to the women, inwardly frowning when she noticed the tightening of Lady Stark's mouth and the obvious distaste on the woman's face. Was there any way to please her? Probably not, now that she thought about it.

"Is this what you've been doing in here? Sleeping and otherwise wasting time?" demanded Lady Stark, her eyes going from Bonnie to Sheena who was thankfully now awake, though abashedly standing at attention.

Bonnie narrowed her own eyes in response and took a step closer to Lady Stark. She could handle rudeness and attitude directed at her, but not her friends. She opened her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by the queen. Bonnie mused that Queen Talisa probably had more experience than anyone with defusing volatile situations caused by Lady Stark's temper. What an extremely unlucky woman, to have to deal with Lady Stark as a mother-in-law. Bonnie would rather be alone than have to suffer that woman's presence longer than she had to.

"I'm sure that Lady Bonnie was most productive, Lady Stark. And if these women needed a bit of a rest, who are we to deny them that? Their journey must have been hard and arduous. Now, the rest of the camp is prepared to leave. We must be off, but first would you be able to show us these protections you were able to craft?"

Bonnie's face softened and she smiled in response. Queen Talisa certainly had a way with words. That probably made her quite an effective healer and would only continue to serve her well as a queen. Bonnie nodded and walked to the center table, the rest of the small group following her. She had laid out the two rings, one for King Robb and one for Queen Talisa, and the queen's dress on the table so they could get them on and protected before the remaining ride to the Twins.

"The rings are simple, woven with fern and lilac oil for protection and to ward away ill intentions. They are discreet and shouldn't bring any undue attention to either one of you. Your dress, Your Grace, is a bit more loud, but that is because of the nature of the protections. There is also lilac oil for protection but also the blue winter rose, both as a connection to the North and as an extra bringer of luck. Magic can be finicky sometimes, but these protections are stronger because they seem so basic. By forging a connection to your roots, I am appealing to your old gods to continue protecting House Stark."

Bonnie watched as the king and queen seemed to digest the explanations she had given. It seemed that they were understanding of it and were ready to protect themselves to the best of her and their abilities.

"The rings are fairly simple. The larger one was spelled specifically for His Grace and the smaller, for Her Grace. It is very important that you wear these rings before entering the Twins. Your Grace, you should also change into this dress before you enter the Twins as well. The magic is meant to protect you by masking you from the ill intent, so to speak. Once you're in the Twins, any ill intent will find you, so please, arm yourselves now. Sheena and I will see ourselves out," Bonnie finished, curtsying once more. She could tell that Lady Stark was not satisfied with her explanations, but boo for her. The king would do everything he could to protect his queen, including putting his mother in her place. Now Bonnie and Sheena needed to get themselves ready so they weren't too out of place at the wedding.

Bonnie barely held back a sound of disgust and disbelief. She should have known that somehow Lady Stark would find a way to ruin things for her, King Robb's orders notwithstanding. Of course Bonnie would be deemed too "dirty" to be allowed into the Twins for the wedding and feast. Maybe rolling around in the dirt with Grey Wind earlier that day wasn't the best idea after all. It gave Lady Stark the ammunition she needed to keep Bonnie outside, that way her disheveled state wouldn't reflect poorly on House Stark or Reed and Walder Frey wouldn't be insulted by having the dirty foreigner in his home. Of course, everything Bonnie had heard of Walder Frey, with his countless wives and lascivious tastes, made her believe he actually wouldn't mind having the foreign woman in his home, if for no other reason than to make a pass at her. Bonnie would almost joke that Lady Stark had saved her from humiliating Walder Frey if she weren't so terrified of something going horribly wrong. Ever since they made it to the Twins, Bonnie had been unable to shake the feeling of unease. It was worse when she saw Roose Bolton walking behind the king as they entered the Twins. Bonnie could almost see Bolton stabbing King Robb in the back and she had to grit her teeth to prevent herself from pushing her way through all of the soldiers there and following them into the Twins, guards and orders be damned.

_Breathe, Bennett_ , she reminded herself gently. There hadn't been time to speak to the royal couple before they all mounted their horses to continue their journey, but when Queen Talisa had waved at her Bonnie did see that she was wearing the protective ring. Bonnie could only hope that the queen was wearing the dress beneath her cloak as well. The two made such a fine couple and Bonnie ached to see how much love the king had for his queen. Just now, as she watched him escort her into the Twins, Bonnie could see how much he cared for her in the way that he cradled her hand in the crook of his elbow and how intimately he leaned into her as they spoke. Would that someone looked at Bonnie that way. Who knows, perhaps someone would. There was more to this world than just Westeros, and as soon as things were settled here Bonnie was determined to explore and see just what kind of world her ancestors sent her to.

For now, though, Bonnie was content to spend time with Grey Wind. She heard that, surprisingly, Lady Stark had insisted on King Robb bringing Grey Wind into the Twins with him, to continue serving as his guard. For some reason, the king refused. Sheena had whispered that she heard Walder Frey forbade the direwolf from coming inside, but Bonnie hoped not. There was only one reason to separate King Robb from his direwolf companion and that reason did not sit well with Bonnie. Contrary to the urging of the Frey kennelmaster, Bonnie had, with the help of Sheena and Dacey Mormont, convinced the man that leaving Grey Wing to her care would be better for everyone.

Bonnie liked Dacey. She was a refreshing example of someone who went against the expected norms of Westeros and still succeeded. Not only was she a woman marching in this very male host, she also expertly wielded that wicked looking morningstar and, from what Sheena had told her, was a fairly good dancer as well. How Sheena stayed on top of the gossip among the great Northern houses, Bonnie had no clue. She reminded Bonnie of Caroline in some ways, though Caroline would have hated living in the swamp. Like Caroline, Sheena was a great friend, honest and trustworthy, and Bonnie was glad to have met her. Her company now made this bore of a wedding more bearable. They had to say goodbye to Dacey earlier, as she was a part of King Robb's battleguard, so for now it was just the two women walking with Grey Wind along the outskirts of the camp.

The sun had set not too long ago and one of the many Freys had come out, announcing the marriage of Edmure and Roslin. The Northern host had cheered loudly at that, feeling happy and optimistic that Walder Frey had finally forgiven King Robb's slight against him. Bonnie thought these people didn't know how strong a grudge could be if they thought a simple marriage would be enough to fix it, but she tried to be optimistic as well. The knot in her stomach and the feeling of unease just grew within her as the celebrations continued. While walking around the camp, Bonnie couldn't help but notice a distinction between the Northern host and the Freys. While the Northern army looked relaxed and reveled around their fires, the Frey men looked stressed and on edge. She would have thought that everyone would have taken advantage of the wine that was being passed around by the Frey servants, but it seemed that only the northerners and some of the riverlanders were actually getting drunk. This was a rather one-sided celebration.

Suddenly, Bonnie didn't feel so good. She stopped, hands digging into Grey Wind's fur, as a cold chill swept through her body. Her teeth chattered and her breathing became labored. Something wasn't right.

"Milady? Bonnie! Are you unwell?" Sheena asked.

Bonnie could barely hear her over the pounding in her skull and Grey Wind's growls. Something wasn't right, something or someone was about to break the sacred laws of this land. Bonnie attempted to straighten so she could force her way into the Twins. Whatever they wanted to happen, absolutely couldn't happen. It would blatantly mock the old gods and Bonnie could feel their presence strong here tonight.

"Sheena, we need to get inside. Now!" Bonnie exclaimed.

She attempted to straighten once more before suddenly falling, her mouth open in a silent scream. What was stabbing her? Bonnie grasped at her stomach and looked down, expecting her hands to be covered in blood. They were clear, though, and Bonnie knew then that she still had time. Bonnie crawled to her knees and grabbed Grey Wind by the face. For some reason, uneasy as he was, he had stayed by her side. Bonnie was grateful, as she knew she would need his strength. She stared into his eyes and somehow saw through King Robb's.

_He/she was uneasy. Why were the Freys being so rude? Where was his/her uncle, the Blackfish, and what was that sound? The music had gone from cheery and celebratory to foreboding. She/he turned to the front of the hall, where Lord Frey was sitting, only now he was looming._

" _Your Grace," he began, an arm raised to call for silence in the hall. "I feel I've been remiss in my...duties. I've given you meats, wine, music, but I haven't shown you the hospitality you deserve. My king has married and I owe my new queen a wedding gift."_

A gift? _he/she thought._ Walder Frey was not known for being very generous. _The feeling of foreboding increased. A scuffle behind him drew his/her attention._

" _Robb!" his/her mother shouted in warning._

Bonnie forcibly severed the link and felt her blood boil, her rage increasing. Shouts of alarm went up in the camp as torches and fires flared hotly. Bonnie noticed with grim satisfaction that the Freys and Boltons who had been sneaking up on the northern host had lost their element of surprise. There was no time to waste though.

"Sheena, follow me!" she yelled as she jumped onto Grey Wind's back, the direwolf immediately leaping into action. Thankfully they weren't far from the gates to the Twins. With nary a thought, Bonnie extended her hand and forcibly wrenched the gate open, stone and metal screeching against each other. She had to go faster. Grey Wind howled as they ran through the courtyard. All Bonnie could see was a sea of Frey soldiers, standing between her and what she assumed was the way to the great hall. She whispered _incendia_ and watched as a line of fire shot out in front of her, surprising the Frey soldiers and forcing them to clear a path. Bonnie and Grey Wind practically flew through the opening and into the main hall of the Twins. She could hear sounds of battle now, the yells and grunts of the men outside of the wall as well as the sounds of battle within the dining hall. Bonnie leaned further into Grey Wind and watched coldly as he mowed through the few soldiers standing in their way, blood and guts flying through the air. He stopped just short of snapping off the arm of the Blackfish, who Bonnie saw was trying his hardest to get back into the dining hall, now that the Frey soldiers had been taken care of.

_Motus_. Bonnie said, and watched as the doors opened, the barricade on the other side being moved. Bonnie, Grey Wind, and the Blackfish rushed inside, heedless of whatever danger lay on the other side of the door. Years of fighting vampires and other supernatural creatures had honed Bonnie's battle sense and she was never more glad for it than she was now. She scanned the dining hall in front of her and saw Walder Frey gloating in front of an injured King Robb. Lady Stark had been knocked to the floor and the queen...Queen Talisa lay on the floor, bleeding, dying! Bonnie and Grey Wind howled so fiercely that it felt like a cold breeze swept through the room. Bonnie jumped from Grey Wind's back and watched as he immediately made his way to the king, deftly dodging arrows left and right that flew at him. Bonnie snarled and waved her hand at the archers who had been posing in the gallery as musicians and watched with satisfaction as their crossbows were swept from their grasps. She would deal with them later.

Talisa. The queen needed her right now. Bonnie jumped to the left, barely avoiding the longaxe swing that would have cleaved her head clean off her shoulders. Right, she was still in the middle of a battle and couldn't let her defenses completely down. If only she had her spear. Still, the dagger she had would have to suffice for now. Bonnie wasted no time in rolling into a crouch, her back against one of the dining tables that had been overturned. It seemed the man who had swung at her had briefly shifted his attention from Dacey, a choice he wouldn't live to regret. While he attempted to recover from his missed swing, Dacey had managed to come behind him and, just as he noticed her, swing her morningstar right at his head. Bonnie would have to vomit at the sound of the man's skull being crushed later. For now, she was grateful that she still had her head and Dacey was still alive.

Bonnie looked towards the front of the hall once more and saw that Grey Wind was still defending King Robb, though he was getting a bit weaker. The blood that seeped through his fur proof that it was a losing battle. Bonnie weighed her decision. Did she have time to save the queen? From here it looked like there was entirely too much blood on the stone floor, but it also looked like the queen still lived. She had shifted onto her side and reached for her husband. Bonnie couldn't just leave the woman to die and she stood, ready to cut a swath through the enemy bodies between her and the queen. She felt Sheena come up behind her, the crannogwoman covered in blood that was thankfully not her own. Bonnie gestured to Queen Talisa, at the front of the room.

"We need to get her out of here. Grey Wind should be able to take care of the king. Do you have my back?" Bonnie asked, tone icy.

Sheena nodded in response and the two made their way forward, Bonnie in the lead. Bonnie raised her left arm, grateful for the layer of light armor she had sewn into all of her dress bodices, as she blocked a sloppy slash from one of the grim faced Freys. She attempted to stab at him with the dagger in her right hand. Longer than a proper dagger and shorter than a bastard sword, Bonnie had called it a bastard dagger. It was specially made for her, since Howland knew she wanted something she could use at a closer range, unlike the spear she initially trained with. The bastard dagger was awkward at times, but Bonnie was still proficient enough to slash again with it, surprising the Frey who had attacked her. She used both hands to maintain control of the blade in the face of the man's greater physical strength. She took a half-step back, off balance, and he pushed forward, desperate to maintain his advantage. Bonnie swept her foot in a semi-circle behind her, making herself a smaller target, as the man jabbed and jabbed at her. Bonnie dodged carefully, right and left, careful to not slip on her dress, as the man grew angrier and his swings became sloppier. There! She saw the opening Rodrick often spoke of and slipped her dagger through, quick as a snake. Bonnie felt the resistance of the man's body and pushed harder. She would come out on top, she had to. She felt the resistance give way and grimaced as her dagger pushed into the softness of the man's belly. Bonnie pulled her dagger out and, while the man gaped in shocked surprise, slashed down across his face. He would not be getting up again.

Bonnie's breath ran ragged as she continued to push her way through the dining hall, side stepping dead bodies, allies and foe alike. There were many who bore the long-faced look of the north, but many more who bore a resemblance to Walder Frey. Bonnie hoped he lost all of his sons, the coward. She brought her dagger up quickly and cried out as she felt the pressure of the blocked blow in her arm. Her knees buckled and she looked into the eyes of yet another Frey. This one looked different, he looked experienced. Bonnie winced as she felt the muscles in her arm scream in pain. She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, staring at the man in front of her. She heard a faint _pop_ and watched as he suddenly buckled in front of her, hands on his head and howling in pain. She didn't like giving humans aneurysms but if the circumstance called for it. Finally, Bonnie was near the front of the hall, so close she could practically dart to the fallen queen's side. She was just about to do so when she felt a tug on the hem of her dress.

Bonnie turned, lighting quick, ready to stab down at whoever was trying to pull her down, but stopped short. It was Lady Stark! Somehow she had managed to stay safe, hidden under the table as she was. Bonnie looked over the obnoxious woman and was relieved to see that it did not appear as though she were seriously injured. She would be soon, however, if she didn't let Bonnie go!

"Let go of me!" Bonnie hissed angrily.

Lady Stark narrowed her eyes at Bonnie and shook her head no.

"Absolutely not. Not unless you swear that you and your magic will save Robb. He needs you!"

Bonnie was loathe to admit it, but it looked like Lady Stark was right. While Bonnie had been fighting her way towards the queen, it looked like only Dacey and one or two other battleguards had been able to make their way to the king. Even with Grey Wind's help they were all still injured and, even worse, the king himself was slowly bleeding out. But the queen...Bonnie watched, heartbroken, as the queen tried to crawl closer to her husband. Time seemed to slow as she and the others near the front of the hall watched the queen reach out to her husband, safe as he was for now behind his ring of protectors. She felt her eyes moisten as she saw the king reach for his wife, his expression of despair and anger morphing into anguish as the queen's hand dropped and she lay there, so suddenly still.

Bonnie watched as King Robb stared in shocked disbelief at his queen's body. If she weren't surrounded by so much death and blood, she would almost look beautiful. Bonnie's choice was made for her, then. To the king. She took another step forward, intent on reaching the king and ending this, when she heard a voice that made her blood run cold.

"Enough, Your Grace. You've lost. The question now is, do you want to die with dignity or with dishonor?"

Bonnie turned, unsurprised to see Roose Bolton standing in the midst of the chaos around him. So he really did betray them after all. Bolton had walked to stand near the queen's body and Bonnie watched, disgusted, as he stroked Queen Talisa's face. How callous and cruel could he be? It was one thing to torture someone while they were alive, but to be so purposefully disrespectful of a corpse was horrifying.

"Lord Bolton, how could you?" spat Lady Stark. She had risen from her hiding position and strode to stand in front of Lord Bolton, seemingly fearless. Bonnie didn't know what this woman was playing at, but poking the bear did not seem like a smart idea.

_Slap!_ The sound resonated through the now suddenly silent hall. It seemed that everyone was getting involved in the drama of this moment. Perhaps Lady Stark wasn't as foolish as Bonnie initially thought. With everyone focused on her, Bonnie was able to make a note of where the northern host currently stood. She wasn't sure what was happening outside, but she did know that the line of fire she had summoned earlier was still blazing strong. It was an effective barrier to keep all other possible enemies out of the hall for now. Inside, it seemed as though the northmen actually had the advantage. The Blackfish had held his own near the rear of the hall and, despite his age, Bonnie could see that he was still an excellent fighter. Bodies littered the floor around him, mostly Frey and Bolton men from what she could see. Near him, attempting to staunch a wound was a young man, dark of hair, wearing red and black.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though they had their own share of casualties for the north. Bonnie saw a rather portly looking man slumped over a table. She briefly recalled seeing him in that tent when she was first introduced to the northern host. On the other side of the hall, nearer what appeared to be an exit that led up to the gallery, was a thin young man surrounded by Frey bodies. It seemed as though he attempted to do what he could to stop the archers from joining the fight as well, the gods watch over his soul. If that was a door that led out of the hall, Bonnie could possibly use that to her advantage. She continued her perusal of the hall and noticed another door, slightly hidden, behind the raised table that the Late Lord Frey had been sitting at. If there was any kind of easily accessible exit in this room, she was certain that would be it. Walder Frey didn't seem the type to start trouble without some kind of assurance of his own safety.

"Mother!"

Bonnie looked back at Lady Stark and gasped. It seemed like the Lady Stark had pushed Roose Bolton too much. While Bonnie had been looking for an escape, Lady Stark had been pleading with Lords Frey and Bolton to let her son go. Bonnie hadn't heard everything, but she didn't need to. There was no way they would willingly let King Robb leave here. They had staked everything on this betrayal of theirs and it would only work if they proved they had eliminated the northern threat. These men were ruthless, all the more evident as Roose Bolton had grasped Lady Stark by the hair and sliced a line, clean across her neck.

They needed to get out of there or they would all be corpses soon. Bonnie could feel her magic waning as well. With the outburst of magic earlier, along with the sustained fire spell, she was quickly reaching her limit. She still had one or two more big spells up her sleeve though.

"Sheena," she whispered urgently. "When everything goes dark I want you to get ready to haul ass and run. There's a door behind Walder Frey. Do you see it? Good. Lead everyone there. I'll prevent them from following you."

Bonnie watched as Sheena's eyes widened in fear. Bonnie shook her head. Now was not the time to get sentimental. She would be fine. She had her own protective charms she wore and, if that didn't work, she just had to trust that she wasn't sent here to die like this.

"Lord Bolton, how utterly disgraceful of you. Of course, that's not so surprising when one considers how many flayed men you have in your keep. Just how many do you have?" Bonnie asked as she sauntered up to him. She needed him off balance, especially if she wanted this plan of hers to work. Just keep everyone off their game a little and she should hopefully be able to pull off this great escape and live to fight another day.

"Who in the name of the seven is that?" snarled Walder Frey.

It seemed as though he didn't like being surprised. Bonnie could work with that.

"Who am I? I am the sorceress behind King Robb. I am your worst nightmare."

"Sorceress? Ha! Some sorceress. It looks like I won, woman."

Bonnie scoffed. He would think that. There was still hope as long as King Robb was still alive.

"You won? How? It looks like the king is still alive, old man. I heard they call you the Late Walder Frey. Look at that, you're so late you can't even surprise and kill an unexpected guest on time. It seems a better name would be the Bumbling Lord Frey or the Foolish Lord Frey," Bonnie said. She began to walk closer to the raised table only to be stopped by Lord Bolton. He gripped her arm tightly and Bonnie winced once more at the images of torture that assaulted her mind.

"What are you playing at, girl?" he asked lowly. Bonnie glared hotly at him, her eyes searing.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Her eyes flashed a bright green, visible only to Roose, and Bonnie smiled inwardly as three things happened simultaneously. He screamed in pain, all of the torches in the room went out, and Bonnie felt the faint stirring of life still from Lady Stark.

"Now!" Bonnie yelled and she heard Sheena begin herding the king towards the exit hidden in the back. Bonnie knew that Sheena could see well in the dark, and she knew Grey Wind could as well. She just hoped that the others were able to follow . The Blackfish was near enough to the door that he and the other northman could exit through the main entrance and the other northman, if he was still alive, should be able to escape from that side door. It wasn't a lot, but hopefully it was enough.

"Lights! Someone light a torch!"

Walder Frey's voice was slightly panicked as he called for someone to help him. Surrounded as he was by those loyal to him and the man was still such a coward. How disgusting. Bonnie could only hope that she came across his path again. If there was one thing she hated above all else, it was a traitor. Frey and Bolton both would feel her wrath. For now though, she felt her nose begin to drip and her consciousness begin to fade. It seemed like she had just about reached her limit. As she saw the dim light of a torch being rekindled, she smiled. She had done her part. Now she could drift off, secure in the knowledge that the king was safe and the massacre somewhat averted. The last thing she felt was the cold bite of steel as she was once more stabbed in the stomach.

"Jaime Lannister sends his regards," he whispered, angry and frustrated.

Roose Bolton was as vengeful as he was sadistic. And who the hell was Jaime Lannister? Bonnie crumpled, her body falling almost protectively over Lady Stark's, the two forgotten in the ensuing search for King Robb and the few northmen who had survived. No one noticed the slight glow of magic that encased both women as Bonnie exhaled her last, before all was still.


End file.
